


In the Infinite Meadows of Heaven

by abigail89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Hogwarts Castle magic, Hogwarts Founders Era, M/M, Other, Post-Hogwarts, Space Husbands, space-time continuum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 07:18:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11618682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: When long-time mates Harry Potter and Ron Weasley cannot seem to pull it together as a couple, Hogwarts Castle calls upon its awesome magic to bring a couple from the future to help them along.





	In the Infinite Meadows of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> I intended to write this for the 2011 Star Trek Big Bang on LJ. I got into it and thought I wouldn't hit the 10K word minimum count, so I bailed. I’ve been working on it, off and on, ever since.
> 
> Thank you **wipbigbang**!! for providing the opportunity for me to finish this fic. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. All Star Trek characters herein are the property of Paramount Pictures Corporation/CBS Studios and Gene Roddenberry. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older.
> 
> Many thanks to the folks at **ushobwri** who are always great cheerleaders. My undying gratitude to my beta readers **aome** and **weepingnaiad** who read a bad fic and then made it so much better. Any mistakes or wtf? moments remain entirely mine. Finished on 8 July 2017 while I was sitting in weepingnaiad’s house drinking coffee she brewed for me.

__Silently, one by one,  
in the infinite meadows of heaven,  
Blossomed the lovely stars,  
the forget-me-nots of the angels.  
\--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

::*||/\||*::

_Since its inception, Hogwarts Castle had been imbued with considerable magical defences and protections. The castle’s talented, formidable founders wove them into the foundation, the core, the bedrock, the very stones of the newly constructed school for witches and wizards of the Kingdom of England, Wales, Alba, and Ireland (the school had been slated for construction in what was then known as Wessex in the southern part of England, around present-day Canterbury, except that a dispute arose between the local nobles who weren’t sure they wanted yet another castle in their midst. So the Four Founders hauled off to the wilds of northern Scotland where none but small tribal groups were camped in undeveloped, decidedly less than grand abodes, and who didn’t give two twits about a castle going up, other than extracting from the Four that no tax of any sort would be levied for the upkeep. Once assured the school would be completely independent, the locals left them to do their work. Not that the locals could see anything, for even in the earliest stage of building, the Founders cast a strong, permanent concealment charm to discourage curious Muggles.) These defencive charms not only repelled magical assault, but also hid the school from nosy and inquiring Muggle folk._

_After Hogwarts opened, the Founders added, adjusted and fine-tuned charms as needs arose. A heating charm was cast to drive away the bone-chilling cold of the Scottish winter; lighting charms could be adjusted to the needs of inhabitants in each room (Rowena Ravenclaw desired more light in her classroom, while Helga Hufflepuff needed much more sophisticated lighting in the greenhouse--bright light for some plants; subdued for others.) Ventilation charms became necessary during the third year when a terrible ‘flu laid the entire student body low._

_But one situation the Founders had not foreseen was the_ strum und drang _of their students. Adolescents, even those in ancient times, were subject to the strong, wildly swirling emotions that are the hallmark of this tender, and often confusing time of life. Mother-witches were hired to provide nurturing and loving environments in each of the four houses; however, as the student body grew over the years, it was difficult to keep house-witches employed; pay was low and expectations were sometimes overwhelming. Rowena Ravenclaw, a mother herself, in a bit of genius magic, somehow was able to capture the essence of a mother’s nurturing care and cast it into the stones. Her charm was able to sense when a student was unhappy or homesick or frustrated with an assignment, and sent out magic that brought comfort. It was, for some, a panacea. The number of students who left due to homesickness dropped dramatically; students who were unhappy for whatever reason found themselves comforted and, well, less unhappy. But no one is quite certain just how all of that worked because the written record of the charms and enchantments that were imbued into the bedrock of Hogwarts went missing._

_Legend had it that Salazar Slytherin made off with a lot of the original records of the founding of the school; some say he wanted to recreate what they had wrought for the Pureblood families that he favoured. Legend also had it that Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and Helga Hufflepuff tried to reassemble the details of the construction of the castle: the magical charms and enchantments they created, the placement of each of the scrying stones, the name of the artisan who made the faucet set in the Prefects' bathroom. It is said they placed these imperfect, reconstructed records, into a newly created archives. However, in 1285, not long after the demise of that intrepid trio of far-seeing founders, the well-meaning, but not terribly teenager-savvy archivist of Hogwarts, one Louisa de la Marchand-Howington, the great-great granddaughter of one of Hogwarts's very first graduates, a Hufflepuff by the name of Peter LeChurch Howington VI (who was also related to Rowena Ravenclaw by way of an ill-advised marriage to her brother's sister-in-law's first cousin), allowed an ambitious student unfettered access to the archives. Somehow those re-constructed founding documents of Hogwarts were again lost. Or stolen. Another whispered legend tells of a shortage of parchment during the busy O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s preparation period and that desperate students broke into the archives and Transfigured ancient documents into blank pages. Either way, the last bit of primary knowledge about the secrets of the castle were lost forever. It was also at this time that the archives was closed, its door sealed, the archivist summarily dismissed; heretofore, all records were to be transferred to the archives magically, at the behest of the Deputy Headmaster who could only gain access to the archives during the summer months, thus removing all temptation of allowing ambitious and possibly devious-minded students access. And thus it has been from that day to this._

_The upshot of the loss of the documents about the building and enchanting of Hogwarts Castle meant that no one quite knew the extent and depth and scope of those enchantments. During one of the more placid eras in the Wizarding world, Headmaster Oliver McIver (1466-1514) set the staff a project to document and test and, if necessary, augment the current complement of spells. It was during that cataloguing effort that that scrying ability was discovered, much to the delight of some of the staff members. The idea that the Heads of Houses could spy on--nay,_ supervise _\--their minions via the very stones of the walls led to a mass exodus from the house-parent flats located in the individual houses to more spacious and commodious ones, albeit very near their respective houses of care. Those staff members without any house supervisory duties moved even further from the students, into higher, loftier reaches of the castle, finding life even more livable, even if in the presence of hundreds of hormonally-fueled teenagers. All of these discoveries were written down in a book, The Booke of Hogwarts Spelles and Charms that only the current headmaster of Hogwarts School could access and kept under his or her direct supervision._

 _But it was the Nurturing Spell that no one, not anyone since Rowena Ravenclaw, had any knowledge of. All anyone knew was that the castle could impart a comforting feeling in times of great personal emotional upheaval. But during the eighth century of its existence, the castle began to act something like a_ matchmaker _. And for the next sixty or so years, it was responsible for the bringing together of many couples. It didn't work on all couples or, rather, would-be couples. Sometimes it worked by making sure the pining individuals stayed in the same room, sometimes sitting in the _same chair_ until the first passionate kiss was exchanged; some couples were actually locked inside closets, much to the consternation and disbelief of staff members. In a few rare cases it even had the power to pull two persons together who didn't even _ know _they were pining for the other. And then there was the embarrassing incident involving a teacher and a student (a most unfortunate experience, even though the teacher had been on the young side and the student a tad older than the usual.) Finally, in 1814, Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black had a very long, stern talk with the Castle at which time the castle, properly chastised, abstained from its matchmaking ways for many, many years. He recorded in the The Booke of Hogwarts Spelles and Charms that he also cast a spell that suppressed such acts. From that time forth, the castle did not attempt to return to its matchmaking proclivities. Albus Dumbledore himself had believed this to be true, having never during his extremely long tenure as professor and then headmaster, seen any evidence matchmaking by magical means (beyond the love potions and charms cast by desperate students, of course) and thus never mentioned it to Minerva McGonagall in all the time she had been his deputy._

_Until the current day._

_Because as it was with life in the natural world, magic, too, had a way of asserting its truest nature, of putting into balance that which was out of balance. And so it was true of Hogwarts Castle: its truest nature could not be denied. What must be, simply must_ be __.

::*||/\||*::

Harry Potter sighed and held his wand up once again, then cleared his throat. "All right, wand at the ready, Clara," he commanded.

"Professor, I-I just don't think..." the young girl stammered.

“You can do this,” he said more gently.

“I-I-I....”

He lowered his wand and walked over to her. Clara Hunt-Chastain, a Hufflepuff in every sense of the word, stood trembling in the large classroom, her wand gripped too tightly in her sweaty hand. Her classmates groaned softly behind her.

"Quiet!" Harry said sternly. "I suppose you lot think you can do better?"

A titter ran through the crowd of third-years. "Merlin, yes," someone hissed under their breath, and another wave of amusement rippled through the crowd of restless students.

"Really?" Harry demanded as he walked towards them. "All right then. You--" He pointed at a large boy sporting a smirk. "Benson, here. Now." Harry signaled for the young girl to step to the side.

The boy shuffled his way through the throng to come to stand beside his professor. Harry stood at his tallest, his Head Auror frown on his face. Benson looked up, and the bravado slid off his face.

 _Excellent_ , Harry thought with satisfaction. "All right, give it a go."

Benson raised his wand at the writhing snake before him. He screwed up his face as if to conjure the image Harry had asked them to do: a funny, absurd object or creature or situation to transform their worst nightmare. As the boy thought, the Boggart changed from reptile to a small, yapping, snappy dog--a chihuahua. It lunged at Benson, who yelped and did a quick dance step back. Laughter rang out. "Aw, is the widdle boy afraid of the puppy dog?" someone called.

"QUIET!" Harry commanded. He stepped in front of the snapping dog. To Benson's credit, the dog was particularly aggressive and managed to snag the hem of Harry's robes--and it immediately changed to a prone figure with red hair, one with indistinct facial features. Harry quickly thought of the funniest thing, one image that never failed to make him laugh, and cried, " _RIDDIKULUS!_ " (Though, in truth, he needn't have spoken the word as he was adept at silent casting); the Boggart changed into a tap-dancing bear wearing a sparkly tu-tu, just like the one he'd seen in Croatia. Harry waved his wand again, and the Boggart-bear shimmied its way back into the large, wooden wardrobe in the middle of the classroom.

The class applauded wildly, and the wardrobe shook violently. _That boggart's getting too well acquainted and too used to us_ , Harry thought ruefully. He knew he was going to have to shove it behind the filing cabinet in the unused attic classroom so that it could become more...boggart-y for future classes.

“This is an important charm to remember when you’re confronted with a boggart. Boggarts can be found anywhere, they’re not that rare. I found one in a writing desk,” Harry said, making eye contact with as many smirking students as he could. “They can catch you out and scare the bejesus out of you. The _Riddikulus_ charm is a simple one, once you’ve mastered it.”

The bell shrilled loudly, signaling the end of the class period. "All right. Since you lot are so smart, I want at least one parchment roll on the _Riddikulus_ charm, why it’s so effective against boggarts, and cite three examples from two sources from the library due by the end of class on Friday. And no, owling your da for his favorite boggart story won’t count as a credible source," Harry said as a collective groan went up.

Several students approached him, asking him various questions about the assignment, when their last essays were going to be marked, and one requesting extra tuition on the charm. "Yes, yes, of course," Harry said compassionately to Clara, the young Hufflepuff girl. "Will tonight after supper work?"

"Yes, thank you, Professor Potter," Clara said breathlessly. She batted her eyes at him, or so he thought. _Damn, they're starting younger and younger._

Harry Potter, erstwhile Saviour of the Wizarding World, The Boy Who Lived, blah blah blah, never thought he'd find himself back at the place he'd once called home, and in a teaching position no less. Once Professor McGonagall and the staff had puzzled out that the Defence Against the Dark Arts position had been cursed by Tom Riddle, they together had created a new position--Defensive Magic. As Headmistress of Hogwarts and the administrator of Albus Dumbledore's bequest to the school, Minerva saw to it that part of the money went to endow the chair and thus forever protect it against any curses. And as the right and true Headmistress of Hogwarts, she also had set out to convince Harry Potter to take the chair.

It hadn't been easy. Harry had entered the Auror Corps, along with Ron Weasley, immediately after the Second War and the demise of Voldemort. After an intense training period last many months, Ron had decided that law enforcement was a “fucking mental and shitty way to make a living” and then went to work with his brother George in the joke shop, _Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes_. Harry had been heartbroken, and for a time, he and Ron did not speak. Nevertheless Harry persisted and set himself to the work rounding up the rest of the Dark Lord’s followers and new followers and bringing them to justice. It had been hard work, fraught with many dangers and many long hours and days away from home, but in the end, immensely satisfying. Each year, Minerva McGonagall came to him, invited him to lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, and each year, asked him to take the new Defensive Magic chair (which, as time went on, wasn’t so new.) And each year, Harry turned her down. “I’m still doing good work, Professor,” he’d tell her. “Maybe next year.”

But after ten years in the corps, five of them as Head Auror, he was ready for a break, and that’s when the invitation from Professor McGonagall had made sense to him. Teaching, playing a little Quidditch, maybe even some traveling during the summer holiday--all of it sounded attractive to the now-weary Harry Potter. He didn’t think he wanted to do it forever, maybe just a few years. But just several months in, he was feeling the tension of his previous profession receding. And he was enjoying it.

The years in the Auror Corps had cost him much more than his good humour and peace; it had also cost him his longtime girlfriend It was ironic that Ginny Weasley had finally given up her five-year Quidditch career to be with him only to have _his_ career interfere with their life. So, instead of waiting she found another career as a Quidditch reporter and took up with Oliver Wood, marrying him within months. Harry had taken that as the omen that it was. He’d never devoted any real energy to their relationship because, to be honest, she hadn’t been what he’d wanted. Not really.

It took several more years and a lot of false starts to realize that what he wanted wasn’t the soft, curvy, sweet flesh of a woman, but the hardened one of a man. And that it wasn’t Ginny—or any woman--who set his heart to racing, but another Weasley. His best mate. His partner in crime. His somewhat volatile, funny, dependable, always-up-for-a-pint best friend. Ron.

Ron Weasley--who also had had girl problems, career problems, family problems. Working for his brother had been good for a while. He’d taken over the marketing part of the business. But with all the travel and stress of developing and testing new products, Ron was heartily sick of the whole thing. The travel had put a strain on his relationship with Hermione, but then again, when had he and Hermione ever gotten along? Their marriage had started out well enough, but it eventually went pear-shaped after ten years and two kids. Harry had been caught in the middle of that debacle, trying to walk the treacherous line of objectivity and compassion. Because, of course, Harry was the one person they both sought out when their seldom-blissful relationship was going up in flames. But the two people Harry most looked out for during his precious and rare times off during the pre-divorce times were his niece and nephew. He’d taken Rose and Hugo into his home so that their parents could try to work on their relationship, and had fallen in love with them as if they were his own. Fortunately, being so young, all they wanted was someone to love them, play with them, give them a safe and happy place. Together with his god son, Teddy Lupin, the three children filled the emptiness in his heart and the ache for children who would never be his own. All in all, they were good substitutes. Except he really missed having someone in his life, particularly a certain red-headed man, especially after he’d joined the faculty at Hogwarts. 

That certain red-headed man was currently tromping with his class into the large entrance hall of the castle, making sure all his charges from his last flying class of the day were in, and ready for supper. “Oy, you there!” Harry heard Ron call out. “Muddy boots--out!”

And as before, a kind of a tug set up in his stomach, one that never failed to draw his attention to Ron’s presence in the castle. Ron had joined the faculty just before the school year had begun, a hasty addition when Xiomara Hooch decided to retire, having received an offer to tour the world with Patience Smith, the world-famous Quidditch player and coach from Australia.

This. . . . _pull_ Harry felt ever since Ron had arrived was exhilarating, yet somewhat mystifying. He knew he’d harbored deep feelings for Ron, feelings that were smooshy and sexual and stirring. He couldn’t look at him without his toes tingling and frankly, his cock twitching. That was most embarrassing in the wrong social setting, particularly one where he was without his robes; thank Merlin the voluminous teaching robes hid a number of faults, including Harry’s preference for jeans and t-shirts (something of a no-no in the faculty dress code.) But every time Ron was in the castle, he couldn’t help but feel _drawn_ to his presence. 

And in many cases, drawn to his presence physically. So many times, Ron just ended up where he was, or rather, he was where Ron was. Sitting next to each other at the table wasn’t odd; that was typical and expected. But Ron had so many times simply _been there_ \--in his classroom, his rooms, on duty, in the library....In most of those cases, Ron hadn’t had any good reason to be there. Or, had he?

Ron was his best mate, and had been since they were eleven. That was a long time to live in each other’s pockets, to share in the destruction of evil dark wizards, to compare notes about girls, teachers, and everything else under the sun. So, the presence of Ron at every turn, and the delicious tugging towards him was vexing and difficult to interpret. Was it just _him_? Or, was Ron really interested in _being_ there with him? 

Confused, Harry sighed and looked up from his plate to see a damp and muddied Ron heading up the center aisle towards the faculty table. The tug exploded into a rush of warmth, and at the same moment, Ron’s face lit up. “Harry!” he called.

Harry waved and Ron picked up the pace, taking the stairs three at a time. “Hullo, Professor!” he said cheerfully to Minerva McGonagall.

The Headmistress gave him a wan smile. “Mr. Weasley, while supper here at Hogwarts on an ordinary Monday evening is not a special occasion, we do insist that our faculty members at least look presentable in front of the students.”

Ron looked down at his robes. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, Professor.” He passed his wand over his body, and once again his robes were black and his trainers red and gold.

“Thank you. Now, tuck in before the roast beef gets too cold,” Prof. McGonagall said kindly. She leaned closer. “I’m well pleased with the level of play for Gryffindor so far, Mr. Weasley. Keep up the good work.”

Ron’s eyes shone. “Thanks, Professor. Yes, ma’am, I’ll keep on them.” Harry had to hide a smile.

Ron sat and pulled the food to him: roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, potatoes and gravy. Harry shoved the broccoli at him. “Greens. Gotta have ‘em.”

Ron turned up his nose, but put a spoonful of florets on top of the pool of gravy. “Happy now, Mum?”

“Reasonably.” They did this every night; it had become a routine. A comfort.

Supper progressed rapidly, and then Clara, the unsure Hufflepuff, came to stand before the faculty table, her eyes shining with hope. “One of yours?” Ron whispered to Harry.

Harry smiled at the girl and swallowed the rest of the pumpkin juice. “She’s tonight’s project.”

“Hang on,“ Ron said, as he shoveled in the last of the broccoli/gravy/potato into his mouth and chewed rapidly. Fortunately, he didn’t see Professor Sinistra roll her eyes at him. “I’ll go with you.”

Harry stood and grabbed a few tarts from the platter. “Well, come along then. I reckon I could use the help.”

In the end, the tutoring session involved quite a few students, including one fifth year Ravenclaw, possibly looking to score major points with Harry for ‘due diligence’, and a couple of Slytherins, who scowled a lot but definitely needed the extra tuition. Ron took several of the students aside to work with them; Harry kept an eye on them, and was pleased when two of the three were able to consistently cast the _Riddikulus_ charm.

“All right, everyone,” Harry called. “It’s now nearly eight o’clock, and I’m sure you have other assignments to complete. Well done, by the way. I’m pleased with your progress.” He caught Clara’s eye and nodded at her. She beamed.

“Right,” Ron said. “You need to get along to your houses, so don’t linger in the halls.”

Harry was satisfied with the evening; Ron’s presence gave him a hyper-awareness of him, and watching Ron teach was a pleasure. The tug in his stomach blossomed. 

“Wanna get a drink?” Ron asked, standing nearby. Really nearby.

“Yeah, sure. Got some butterbeer in my rooms,” Harry said, trying not to allow hope to overtake him. “Come on up.”

They left the classroom and walked the familiar hallways up to Harry’s flat in the northwest section. Their shoulders bumped as they climbed the narrow staircase, as they always did, but this time each touch set off tiny explosions in his heart. He dearly hoped Ron was feeling the same. 

Ron had been going on about the Chudley Cannons’ chances of having the first winning season in thirty years, now that they had acquired Karl Gertsenheimer from Germany and how he had nearly brought the World Cup to them two years ago and....

“Hey, here you go,” Harry said, handing him a bottle.

“Mmm, cheers, mate,” Ron said, as he popped the top. “It’s been ages since I’ve had a butterbeer. Now that I can go to the pub, I usually just get a stout.” He took a long draw on the bottle. “Yeah, that’s still pretty good stuff.”

Harry waved him off to sit, and Ron chose the chair across instead of sitting beside Harry on the sofa. Something compelled him, though, to get up and sit closer to Ron in the chair next to his; Ron’s feet were up on the coffee table, so Harry placed his alongside, hoping Ron would also remove his shoes.

But no such luck. Ron prattled on about Quidditch and students and flying lessons and his parents and some woman whom he’d met at the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade. She’d invited him over for lunch for a second time and he was considering it because “Really, the bird can cook, Harry. You outta smell how good food other than Hogwarts’ is.”

And Harry nodded, rubbing that ache deep in his stomach that had nothing to do with supper and everything to do with the words “some bird.” He felt another compulsion to just get up and sit in Ron’s lap, but he fought against it, hard. Besides, Ron didn’t look like he’d even want Harry anywhere near his lap.

After another butterbeer, Harry was ready to jump Ron’s bones. For some reason, being near him this evening had been harder than all the previous ones before. Maybe it was because he’d been thinking about Ron all day; maybe it was because he hadn’t seen him during the previous weekend. But right now, Harry couldn’t get enough of him; he wanted desperately to wrap his arms and legs about Ron’s lanky body and just revel in his essence. He imagined the heat of Ron warming him to his core, the softness of his chest hair against his own sparsely-haired one, his large, calloused hands roaming all over his body, his long fingers breaching him, stroking his prostate, making him c--

“Harry, you okay, mate? Looks like you’re running a fever or something,” Ron said, his eyes wide. “Do you need another butterbeer?”

Harry shook his fantasy away. “Oh, erm...no, I-I’m fine,” he said weakly.

“You don’t seem fine.”

“No. No, I’m all right.” He worried his lower lip as he looked at Ron, warring within himself if he should ask the question. “Say, have you, you know, ever since I came here, to Hogwarts, felt. . .I dunno, different, somehow?” He tried to remain casual about it, but his insides were in an uproar.

Ron stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

Harry squirmed. “Well, it’s just that ever since I moved here, took up teaching, it’s been different. For me, anyway.”

Ron stood. “Everything’s different, Harry.” He stalked to the kitchenette and deposited his bottle there.

“Ron,” Harry started, “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that--”

“Look.” Ron ran his hands through his red hair. It was longer than Harry’d seen it in quite a while. “I’m still trying to get used to not being married, not being around my kids every day, not living in my house. Hermione--” He stopped. “Hermione sent me the divorce papers yesterday. So, yeah, everything’s different.”

 _Shite!_ Harry thought. He’d forgotten that Hermione had Owl’ed him about that. “I’m sorry, Ron. I really am sorry.” He placed a sympathetic hand on Ron’s arm.

But Ron shrugged it off. “Yeah. Everyone’s sorry. My parents are sorry. Hermione’s sorry. Most of all, though, I’m sorry. Sorry at being a sorry husband and a sorry father and a sorry son,” he said bitterly. He stood with his hands on hips looking dejected and mad. Then he said, “I gotta go.”

“Ron, you don’t have to--”

He turned and took several long steps to the door. “See you tomorrow, Harry,” he said over his shoulder, then slammed the door behind him.

Harry sat heavily on the sofa, rubbing the ache again; it subsided some, but was still bothering him. “I can’t do this to him. Not now. Maybe not even ever,” he muttered. He got up, roamed around his small flat, then sat at his desk and pulled the seventh years' textbook toward him, thinking about how he was going to introduce casting Shielding and Defensive charms simultaneously. He stared at the words on the page, but nothing made any sense.

Disgusted, he rose from the chair, kicked the side of the desk, and limped to the bedroom.

*~*

“Hiya, Harry,” Ron said cheerily as he plopped down beside him at lunchtime. He pulled the crock of chili towards him and spooned up a large portion into his bowl. “It’s a great day for flying. Can you come this afternoon?”

Harry rubbed his stomach, trying to make the ever-present throb ache a little less. Ron looked and sounded like nothing had happened between them the night before. “Nah. Got classes until 5:00. It’s my long day.”

Ron’s face fell slightly. “Oh, that’s right.” He chewed thoughtfully, then said, “Hey, I really don’t need to be there until my first class at 2:30. Want an assistant?”

Harry started at Ron’s suggestion. Ron was an enormous help with the practical side of defensive magic. His time in Dumbledore’s Army had proved to everyone, but mostly to Ron himself, just how good he was. But the classroom work, the theoretical side, the lecturing--that wasn’t where Ron’s interests lay. Still, it meant Ron would be near him, and he’d be able to look at him and exchange jokes. “Sure,” Harry replied, shrugging, trying not to show any excitement. “But I’ll warn you. It’s my fifth years, and I’m getting them ready for the written part of their O.W.L.s.”

“Well, that’d be all right. It’s you giving the lecture, yeah?” Ron said around mouthfuls of chili. “Might learn a thing or two listening.”

Harry nearly choked on his pumpkin juice at that: Ron, admitting a lecture wouldn’t be so bad? Harry’s heart soared. “Erm...yeah. That’d be really cool. Maybe you could help during one of the practical training sessions next week.”

“Yeah, could do that.”

Harry continued to watch Ron eat. He wondered if he should bring up their uncomfortable parting from last night, his insensitive response to Ron’s announcement about the divorce from his--their--best friend. But Harry found he just couldn’t come up with the right words. _As usual_ , he berated himself mentally. He could take down a Dark wizard, but lend comfort to his best mate and-and--maybe something more than best mate? That, he couldn’t do.

* 

_The castle sighed. It was absolutely clear that these two needed to be together, for their happiness as well as the well-being of its inhabitants. Because the castle had seen this before: two people, bright, sweet, _lovely_ people, pining for each other, perhaps without even knowing it, casting a pall, a funk, a cloud over the atmosphere of the castle. It could definitely compromise the education of the Wizarding world’s young people. For their sake, for the sake of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, something needed to be done._

 

*~*

Harry, dressed in his black teaching robes, skipped down the stairs as quickly as he dared. He was late, though his reasons were related to his lecture that morning, and he didn’t trust his second-years to spend too much time on their own, especially now that they’d moved into the practical part of their lessons. _Expelliarmus_ was dead useful, yet deadly in the hands of unsupervised children.

As he walked quickly along the second floor to the final staircase to his classroom, he felt the familiar ache in his abdomen. Odd that it was occurring now, at this moment. He passed by a broom closet and the ache became so acute, he doubled over, dropping the papers and books in his arms. “Damn it,” he muttered.

Then he found himself walking, hunched over, towards the closet; the door flew open, and when he entered, it closed behind him with a bang.

“Harry!” Ron reached out for him. “Are you all right, mate?”

“Yeah.” Harry stood up straighter and, surprisingly, he _did_ feel better. “Yeah, but that was weird.”

“What was?” Ron still had his Quidditch helmet on, but not his gloves.

“It felt like I was punched in the gut, and now, it’s gone.”

“Huh.”

Ron and Harry looked at each other. “Ron, why are you in the second floor broom closet?”

Ron shrugged. “Not too sure. I was on my way up to Gryffindor to find one of my students, and I ...just found myself in here. You?”

Harry rubbed at his non-existent pains. “I dunno either. I was...SHITE! I have to go!”

Harry turned and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “Well, fuck me. What’s going on?”

Ron leaned over his shoulder, bumping into him and causing Harry to shiver. “What’s wrong?”

“Door won’t open.” He felt a strong compulsion to kiss Ron’s cheek, which was right there-- _right there_ \--in his eyeline. But he turned his face away, shaking it off.

“That’s odd. Hey, let’s try _Reducto_!”

“Um...why don’t we use _Alohomora_ before we blast the door down?”

“Yeah, reckon we should.”

They aimed their wands at the door and together they muttered the spell under their breaths, then pushed on the door.

Nothing.

Harry looked at him. “Okay, _now_ we use _Reducto_.”

Ron smirked at him. “Knew you’d see it my way.”

Harry rolled his eyes, and on the count of three, they shouted _Reducto_!”

The door shuddered, then blew apart. The noise of it echoed through the stone hallways.

“Well, that was messy,” Harry remarked.

“And noisy.” Several students came rushing up to see what was happening. “Nothing to see here,” Ron said, directing them towards the staircase. “Get to class. Go on.”

While Ron was directing traffic away from the broom cupboard, Harry cleared up the splinters and pieces of the wooden door. He was also musing on the mysterious factors that had led him to destroy a centuries-old door. How had they come to be locked in a broom cupboard? How indeed had they even been drawn to the broom cupboard in the first place? 

_What the hell was going on_?

“Harry?”

Harry looked up at Ron, who was smiling. “You were really into that, weren’t you?”

He smiled back as Ron handed him the stack of lessons and books. “Just thinking.” He took the books and stood there. . . expectant. 

Ron picked up his broomstick and jogged over to the stairs. “See you at lunch!” he called, waving.

“Yeah.” Harry cursed at himself. What the hell was he _expecting_ , anyway?

_Dammit._

 

_Had they been listening, they might have heard a wind whoosh through the castle that sounded a lot like disappointment._

_The castle could feel Harry’s frustration and growing doubts and despair; Ron’s vacillation and temerity. It needed to do something to resolve the tension between them. Because it **hurt** to feel it, feel **their** disappointment._

 

*~*

“It’s really important, then, when you’re being confronted by a Dementor to clear your thoughts of anything that could--”

The loud click of the door then the even louder crash of same door slamming shut broke Harry out of lecture-mode, dropping the chalk he’d been twirling in his hand and provoking him into going for his wand.

The class as one entity turned their heads to look at Ron, who was breathing heavily and holding his broomstick.

“Coach Weasley?” Harry asked, lowering his wand immediately. “Do you need something?”

“Umm...no. Sorry,” Ron said slowly, walking towards him at the front of the room. “Har--I mean, Professor Potter, could I speak with you?”

“Sure, of course.” He gave Ron a puzzled look, and then turned to his class. “Okay, tonight’s homework is to read the section in the textbook on Dementors and the mind-clearing technique that’s in the appendix. It’s not half-bad, so I want you lot to give it a go. Describe in an essay how it would work for you. I’ve put another book in the library on reserve, so if you’re curious you can use that one, too.” Ron wandered up the stairs to the small office and stood in the doorway. “You’re sixth years,” Harry added. “I expect you to act like it. So, go quietly to the library or your houses and get started on your reading.” He waved at them, and they scattered in a burst of noise.

Harry climbed the stairs, ushered Ron into the office and closed the door. “What’s going on, Ron?” he said, challenging. “You interrupted my class.”

Ron raised his eyes to Harry’s and then wandered around the office. “Being here reminds me of the Chamber of Secrets and Lockhart,” he said dreamily.

Harry felt the lethargic ache and pull towards Ron, and with the door closed, he gave in to it. “It’s a cool office. Loads of odd things stored in the closet I've used in class.” He stopped, when he was right next to Ron, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him. “D’you want a cup of tea or something?”

Ron’s attention and eyes drifted back to Harry. “Yeah, tea would be great.”

Harry walked to the credenza with the tea making supplies--kettle, cups, tea tin, a small pitcher of cream in stasis--and made them both steaming cups.

Ron took his with a whispered, “Thanks,” and sipped. The room was fraught with sighing sips and silence.

“How is it,” Ron finally said, startling Harry, “you know how I take my tea? It’s perfect.”

Harry set his cup down on the desk. “I’ve known you for most of my life, and made you a bloody lot of tea over the years,” he replied. The lightness of his remark belied the serious look on his face.

“I’ve known Hermione for the same amount of time, lived the last eight years with her, and yet, she always had to ask how I wanted it.”

“Well, Hermione has a lot on her mind usually,” Harry said.

Ron took another sip. “Why is this happening, Harry?”

Harry stared. “Why is what happening?” He hoped that he sounded as casual as he intended it to.

Ron’s face clouded. “This. You and me. I always find myself with you. I’m always thinking about you. If I’m somewhere else, I want to be--” He stopped. “Check me for a curse,” he demanded all of a sudden.

“What?”

“A curse or a compulsion charm.” His eyes grew wide. “Or _Imperio_?”

“ _Imperio_? You actually think someone has to Imperio you to spend time with me?” Harry stood again, his hands involuntarily balling into fists as his sides.

“I dunno. Check.”

Harry snorted, not knowing what to feel or think about Ron’s...accusation. He pulled out his wand and cast several spells to reveal and remove general compulsion charms. Then, he waved it over Ron’s red-haired to check for the _Imperio_ curse. “Anything?”

Ron blinked. “Nothing. No change at all.”

Harry slowly put his wand on the desk. “Ron, maybe it’s--”

But instead of listening, Ron backed away, his eyes comically wide. “No. NO, I can’t do this, Harry.”

“Do what?”

“I can’t,” he said. He opened the door, flinging it hard on its hinges, and he ran down the stairs.

Harry strode quickly onto the landing. “Ron, wait!” he shouted at Ron’s retreating figure. “I only--”

But Ron opened the classroom door and left without even looking back.

Harry banged his fist on the stone railing. “Damn it, Ron,” he muttered in frustration. “What were you going to say?”

*~*

And so it continued for days upon days. Ron meeting Harry for meals, during class times, after hours at tutoring or practicums, in his teacher’s flat for butterbeer. On the weekends, Ron Apparated to his old house to spend time with Rose and Hugo. When he had Quidditch matches to supervise, Hermione brought the children to him.

“How’s it going?” Harry asked his other best mate as they settled into the faculty stands at the north end of the Hogwarts pitch. “Haven’t seen you in an age.”

“Oh, well, I’m just very busy,” Hermione said, tucking a blanket a little tighter around a squirming Hugo while watching Rose, who was flying with her father on his broomstick around the pitch. Flying still made Hermione nervous. “My mum has been helping me out with the children, picking them up from school and such.”

“You’ve put them in Muggle schools, yeah?” Harry asked. He waved as Rose and Ron flew by, her red cap a contrast to Ron’s black and white Quidditch referee’s robes. She was smiling widely as Ron clutched her to his chest.

“Of course. Hugo broke a glass the other day when he became very, very frustrated,” Hermione said.

Harry looked at her, gauging her reaction from that bit of news. “Really? He’s only five.”

“True. But with Ron’s magical genes, I’m not surprised in the least. Molly said Fred and George were exhibiting magic at three.”

Harry laughed. “Dear Merlin. Poor Molly and Arthur.”

“Truly,” Hermione said, laughing. But then her face fell into sadness just as quickly. She bit her lower lip, a sign she was unsure, but after a few seconds she asked, “Say, Harry, how is--how is he doing?”

Harry wagged his head back and forth, thinking. “Some days are better than others. He’s lost his temper a couple of times, so I’ve heard from some students. He gotten a little maudlin with me several times.” He looked down and worried a loose string on his glove, thinking about the confrontation in his office several nights ago. “But, I think he’s doing all right, considering.”

Hermione nodded her head gently. “This has been really rough on all of us. I-I really didn’t want it to come to this, but--” She stopped. “You know all this. You’ve been caught in the middle all along, and I want you to know, Harry, you’ve been a good friend. To both of us. You’ve been more fair than perhaps is necessary. There are no winners here, especially our children.”

Her eyes welled. Harry pulled her close, rubbing her arm comfortingly. “Once summer comes, I’ll try to do more with them. It’s just that it’s so hard with classes to teach and living up here and--”

“I’m not asking you to do more!” she said forcefully. “Merlin, you’ve been amazing with them. 

“Why don’t you stay to lunch?” Harry asked. “I’d love to spend time with my niece and nephew, and you can find a quiet place to read.”

She turned to him and buried her face in his cloak. “Oh, Harry. What would I do without you?”

He laughed. “You’d still be brilliant and my friend, Hermione.”

The enhanced words of Headmistress McGonagall ended their conversation. “Welcome to the start of the Hogwarts Quidditch season!” A roar went up from the crowd. “This year, Mr. Ronald Weasley is our Quidditch trainer and flying coach.” Another roar, especially from the Gryffindor side. Harry and Hermione both stood to clap and whoop loudly; Hugo bounced up and down excitedly whilst yelling, “Daddy! Daddy!”

Ron did a self-conscious bow from his broomstick. He flew over to the stands with Rose in front of him. She was smiling broadly. He came hard aside the stands. Harry jogged down the few stairs to the side and stretched out his arms to take Rose from him. “Good luck, mate!” Harry said.

Ron looked like he was going to burst with pride. “Thanks so much!” Ron said. They grasped hands briefly, and Ron flew off.

Harry shivered at the tingle that zinged through him as their hands touched. Ron gave him a small smile, and Harry reveled in it. “Uncle Harry!” Rose said. “Let’s go find Mummy.”

He looked down at the little girl in his arms. “Of course. Your mum has some hot chocolate to warm you up, too.”

“Yay!” she said. 

*

The match ended with a Gryffindor victory

*  
_Hogwarts Castle... The sorrow leached into its ancient stones, streaming through crumbling mortar, infusing every nook and cranny; tears of failure dripped from the eaves and ran in cold rivulets over decaying wood. A pall of melancholy suffused the entire structure, and it settled like a dark blanket over all its inhabitants. The lights seemed dimmer; the animation of even its liveliest and youngest members felt the despair._

_What to do now? Every attempt to get Harry and Ron to admit their love for each other had failed; even their best friend could not convince them to come together. It reached deep into the foundation of its magic, the magic given to it by the founders and builders; magic so intrinsic, so integral to its being that it transcended time and space and universes..._

_Through its magical core, the castle searched everywhere for something, someone that could help solve the problem of two men who were paralyzed in their fear to admit what was in their hearts to the other. It traveled through the ages, before and ahead, to things seen and unforeseen, events that had flowed through time. In its wanderings, a spark, a light, a voice, a love so deep that it pulsed with life, captured the magic, and the castle reached out and gathered it in. . . ._

::*||/\||*::

_Earth_  
San Francisco, UNA  
Starfleet Officers’ Leave Quarters  
2263.1105::The end of the U.S.S. Enterprise _’s first five-year mission_

 

“Aw, fuck, yeah. Fuck, that’s good. Right there.” He grunted as another frisson of passion shivered through him. “God, yes.”

“Come on, Jim. Just come already.” There was a strain, an urgency in the other’s voice. 

He shifted his hips, angling them up higher so that the cock pistoning in and out of his body hit his prostate each and every time, sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain through him, rushing his orgasm to fruition. “Yeah, Bones,” he hissed. “Yeah. . .”

And with a final gasp, he came, hot strands spurting over the long, slender fingers that grasped his cock above his heaving belly. Above him, lips descended to his, bruising and needy; four more thrusts and a muffled cry of ecstasy erupted between them. Breathing heavily, the kiss dissolved into something much slower, less brutal; mouths became soft as petals, kisses dropped onto his lips and eyelids became like dewdrops in an early morning meadow. 

A gentle exhalation accompanied the roll of a body off of his, but only to the side, where warmth enveloped him, legs still tangled with his; a heavy arm laid decidedly, possessively across his chest, warm breath ruffling his hair. He sighed in contentment and snuggled closer.

“Pretty good for an old man,” Jim Kirk said.

“Old men, you mean.”

“Pffttt. I am in no way an old man, you old man,” Jim replied. 

“Right now, I’m feeling every day of my thirty-six years,” Leonard McCoy said, groaning. “Remind me to never go running with you.”

“Aw, come on, Bones. You’re the one who couldn’t wait to go running in real air on Earth. You’ve been telling me that for two and a half years.” 

“Running around a starship or on a treadmill is a little different from running up the hills in San Francisco,” Leo said, pulling up on one knee, then the other. “My glutes are screaming at me, my hamstrings refuse to move, and my back is saying ‘never again, Leonard.’”

Jim rolled over and hopped out of bed. “Need to get you out there every morning, then.”

“You’re disgusting. Why’re you so goddamn chipper this morning?”

“Because I’m getting married in nine days to a wonderful, handsome man,” Jim exclaimed in a sing-song voice as he twirled his way to the bathroom. He slapped out a fast and hearty rhythm on his naked ass, all for Leo’s benefit.

Leo rolled over and pulled the blankets over his head. And grinned to himself. Because in actuality, it was _he_ who was marrying the most wonderful and handsome man in ten days.

After nearly eight years together, Leonard McCoy, M.D./Ph.D. and Chief Medical Officer of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_ , finally got up the nerve to ask Captain James Tiberius Kirk, the youngest Starfleet captain for twenty years or so, to marry him. Seven years out from the Academy, seven years of mostly successful missions on behalf of the United Federation of Planets; seven years of good intentions and brave deeds. The day he met Jim Kirk was one that he would never forget: not only did he, Leonard, make the momentous decision to sign up for Starfleet, thus changing his life, but it brought him a friend who made his life better, even better than he could have ever imagined. After a horrific divorce left him nearly penniless, without a job, his reputation in tatters, completely shut out of his daughter’s life, and emotionally compromised and bereft, Starfleet seemed like the only option open to him to … regain something that approximated a life. Roaring drunk and scared shitless, he had climbed onto a shuttle in Atlanta, having been talked into signing up by a very persuasive Captain Christopher Pike. The recruitment shuttle had then stopped over in Riverside, Iowa for the night, and after another night of drinking liquid courage and then hung over as hell the next morning, he was pulled from the head of the shuttle and shoved into a seat, next to a guy who looked like he’d gone a few rounds on the wrong side of a fist or three.

He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but he’d handed the kid his flask, and that’s when he’d caught his name--Jim Kirk. Kirk had taken care of him, keeping his mind off the fact he was sort of sobering up and flying in a low orbit, something that scared him out of his gourd on a good day, towards a new life, an unknown life. Somehow, he just knew this Kirk kid would play a role in it.

Leo uncovered his head and rolled onto his back, and rubbed his complaining belly as he listened to Jim shower noisily; Jim didn’t sing that often while showering, a crazy notion, given that loud and boisterous was his default setting. Jim only sang when he was ecstatically happy or felt particularly pleased with himself. He’d sung in every shower he’d taken since they disembarked from the _Enterprise_ and threw themselves headlong into finalizing the plans for their wedding. _Yeah, Jim’s really happy_ , Leo thought. 

“Hey, Bones! You coming to join me?” Jim asked. “As I recall, you’ve got dried spunk all over your chest from last night.”

Leo rubbed his belly again, laughing as he did. He’d never laughed like this, ever. It was different this time. He had a new life, a new--well, not so new, but new enough--love who was soon to become his husband. _Jim is alive and happy. And so am I._ Rubbing the ache in his stomach, he levered himself out of the bed and shambled towards the bathroom. “If I perform for you, will you feed me?” he asked as he stepped into the shower.

Jim immediately took his face in soapy hands and kissed him long and sweetly. He worked the soap over Leo’s body and shoved him under the hot water. “Aw, Bones, am I not enough sustenance for you?” he said suggestively.

“You are life itself, darlin’,” he said softly, suddenly seized by an overwhelming wave of sentiment. “You’re everything I need.”

“Aww, Bones.” And Jim rewarded him for that.

*

“Bones, slow down. Come on, man. We’re going to be massively early for our appointment as it is, so just slow down.” 

Leo stopped suddenly and Jim ran into him, causing Leonard to drop one of the bags he was carrying. “Dammit, Jim, would’ya stop running your mouth?” he said. “And you’d better hope like hell that wasn’t the bag with the Vulcan crystal in it, because that shit cost a small fortune, and--”

“Bones, it wasn’t.” Jim showed him a plain brown bag. “I’ve got the crystal.” He helped Leo pick up the bag (which held two boxes of new running shoes Jim insisted they both needed) then pulled him out of the bustle of late morning San Francisco pedestrian traffic by stepping into the vestibule of a bar. “Look, all I’m sayin’ is we have time to get a bite to eat before we have to be at the tailor for the final fittings.”

It had been a helluva few hours, filled with shopping and other wedding-related errands. “This is why I didn’t want a wedding, Jim,” Leo groused as he dropped the other three bags he’d been holding, shaking his hand to encourage the blood to flow through to his tingling fingers. “It’s a lot of work and involves way too much -- mmmph!”

Jim planted his lips to Leo’s complaining mouth and just left them there while his hand caressed the line of muscle between Leo’s shoulder blades. Jim knew where his soon-to-be-spouse carried all his worries and cares and as they kissed, he massaged Leo’s back. Leo moaned into Jim’s mouth. “Would love to take you back home and just forget everything,” he whispered into Jim’s neck.

“You really need to get someone to treat this, Bones,” Jim said, giving him a final hug. He leaned over and picked up all the bags. “I hate that your back hurts all the time.”

“It’s all right. Just need to do some of the stretching exercises, and you can run the regen unit over that spot later.” Leo rolled his shoulders and neck, obviously trying to work the kink out. He also rubbed his stomach, grimacing as he did. “All right, so we have, what? Another hour or so to kill?” He looked at the door to the bar. “This is an Irish bar. Bet they have a decent shepherd’s pie.”

Jim smiled. “Fine by me. Hey, you feeling all right? I’ve noticed you’ve been rubbing your tummy a lot.”

Leo rubbed it again. “I don’t know. It started yesterday, and I felt queasy earlier.” He patted his abdomen again. “Doesn’t hurt, but--”

“Feels a little tingly?” Jim finished for him.

Leo’s eyebrow rose. “That’s exactly how I’d describe it.”

“Well, now that you mention it,” Jim admitted, “mine’s been bothering me too.”

“Really?” Leo patted himself down looking for his tricorder. “Dammit. That’s what I get for not carrying my bag with me.” He peered closely at Jim’s face. “You think?” He paused. “Nah. I was going to chalk this up to pre-wedding jitters.”

Jim smiled at him. “What? I don’t give you butterflies anymore, Bones?” he asked cheekily. “The excitement is over, I guess.” He sighed dramatically.

“Oh, stop it, you moron. You never gave me butterflies. More like a pain in the neck.”

“And your ass,” Jim whispered as he leaned closer. He patted Leo’s behind lovingly.

“Always, darlin’,” Leo replied. “You ready for some lunch?”

“You need to ask?” Jim asked, pinching Leo’s ass cheek before he picked up their bags. Leo opened the door to the noisy bar.

*

After a good lunch, which did much to restore body and spirit, they made their way to the tailor near Starfleet headquarters that made all of the dress uniforms for officers the old-fashioned way--with thread and needle. 

“Jim, you gotta stand still or else you’re gonna get stuck with a pin,” Leo advised. His fitting had gone quickly, as his measurements hadn’t changed much from when his first dress uniform had been made.

“Shit, Bones!” Jim said. “Why didn’t you tell me I was gaining weight? This is terrible! I run every single day. You come down on me like a ton of tritanium tiles if I even look at a doughnut. This is not fair, dammit!” He patted his stomach as he stood sideways in the mirror. 

Leo smiled at him serenely. “Ah, but it’s the doughnuts I don’t see that have traveled to your waistline, Jim.” He stepped up behind Jim, who was still turning from side to side, fussing with the long white jacket. “Besides, you needed to gain a little weight. If you’ll remember, you were on the too-skinny side when we first went out into deep space.”

The mere fleeting thought and mention of the time after Jim died and Leonard had had to use that madman Khan’s super blood to bring him back caused Leo to mentally shudder.

Jim grumbled. “For the next few weeks, no cookies or cake or crap. One piece of wedding cake. Hold me to it, Bones.” 

“Any time, Jim.”

With the final adjustments made to their dress uniforms and a promise to have them ready in two days, they left. “So back to our stomach issue,” Jim says. “We don’t think it was anything we ate because even the one meal we didn’t have together we both ate at Starfleet headquarters.” He pulled a napkin out of his jacket pocket. “This started for you thirty-six hours ago; mine started roughly twenty hours ago. We drank the same bourbon; I ate an apple yesterday afternoon, you ate two oranges. And we ate grapefruit this morning which I still contend tasted a little off.”

“It was fine. If you hadn’t dumped half the sugar bowl onto it, you would’ve noticed.”

Jim stuck his tongue. “I don’t think so. And that wouldn’t account for the other sixteen hours you’ve been having this problem.”

“It’s hardly a problem.” Leo said, rubbing his stomach, “but it sure is goddamned annoying. Well, since neither of us is experiencing any true pain, I’m not inclined to check us into Starfleet Medical unless we absolutely have to.”

“Fuck, yes, agreed,” Jim exclaimed. “I was hoping you wouldn’t suggest we do that.”

“Nah, we’re tough. However, I am going to check us out when we get home.”

“Aww, _man_!”

Leo rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such an infant.”

*~*

Two days later, Leo was no closer to diagnosing the cause or any symptomatic history of the “tummy tingles” he and Jim were experiencing. A particularly prolonged attack awakened him in the night, causing him a little discomfort but nothing medically alarming; he was, though, annoyed at having been awakened. Jim woke up when Leonard was running the tricorder over his belly, grumbling at the high-pitched whine and beeps of the little instrument. A little loving blowjob and Jim quickly fell back asleep.

*

Their middle-of-the-night activities made getting up in the morning hard, and there were duties both had to attend to. Up and dressed in uniforms, they made their way to the main transporter deck at Starfleet headquarters. Jim grinned as he entered.

“Scotty!” Jim called out cheerfully to his Chief Engineer. “You’re on duty?”

“No, but I happened to be around when I heard ye were coming by to beam up to the ship.” Montgomery Scott grasped his captain’s hand firmly. “Doc, good to see ye.”

“How’s it going? How’s our girl?” Jim asked.

“More importantly, have you spent any time away from the ship for some R & R?” Leo interjected. “You need to take more than a few hours off. Have you gone back to Scotland, visited your family since we arrived? It’s not healthy for you to work round the clock on the ship, Scotty.”

“Eh, it’s all good, Doc,” Montgomery Scott said. “I’ve booked myself onto a shuttle the day after your wedding to visit me parents. I’ll get plenty of fresh air then. But I wanna get these space jockeys up and running before I head out.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jim said. “And thanks for sticking around to supervise the first phase of the upgrades.”

“Not a problem. Don’t want anything to go astray with wit’ our dear girl.” 

Leo rolled his eyes. “Would you two like to have a threesome with the ship? Because I can certainly find something else to occupy my time. I don’t have to go aboard.”

The _Enterprise_ , their home in deep space, was undergoing the final preparations for a massive overhaul and upgrade. In five years’ time, a lot of changes had taken place for systems and operational technology. The computer network was to be ripped out and replaced; the navigational system was in the midst of a redesign and would be the last upgrade to be installed; sickbay was being rebuilt and expanded to accommodate an experimental imaging technique that Leo still wasn’t quite sure about. But he was pleased to be getting a third surgical suite and two quarantine rooms. All the better to keep his captain contained when he got into some alien pollen or water. And of course, the warp core, Montgomery Scott’s baby, was slated to be overhauled, upgraded and made much more efficient, the redesigns based mostly on the Scot’s research and specification. While they were at it, the entire ship would undergo a good, deep cleaning.

“You coming with us, Scotty?” Jim asked, as he stepped up onto one of the transporter spots.

“Nah, can’t.” Scotty checked the settings on the console, then looked up. “Goin’ to a meeting wit’ the lads on the dilithium chamber redesign. I gotta make sure those young bucks get it right.”

“You do that,” Leo said. “I don’t want to hear about any design fuck-ups. It was bad enough under the original.” 

Scotty looked at him, outraged. “Those original engines got us through just fine, Doctor! I dinnae want to hear about...”

“Scotty!” Jim called out. “Anytime now. Bones, stop winding him up. You know how he feels about his warp core.”

“Well, technically, it isn’t _his_ core.”

“When he’s the one keeping them from flying apart when we’re engaged in battle, he can claim ownership if he wants---Scotty,” Jim said, interrupting himself, “is anything wrong?”

“Not a bit.” The engineer continued to fiddle with the console. “Welllll, just having a wee bit of a power surge in the system. Ah! That’s got it.”

Leo looked at him. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

“I got it now. You’re good to go.”

“Energize,” Jim said calmly.

“Wait!” Leo said. “Wait! Aren’t you going to ask him if that power surge affected the controls, Jim?”

“If Scotty says it’s good, it’s good. Relax.”

Leo heard the whine of the transporter as it fired up, felt the first pull of energy rushing through his body as his molecules began to dissolve in that disconcerting, distrustful, disorienting way. He closed his eyes, as he always did, to fight the swooping feeling in his stomach, but this time, it was different. The swooping was replaced by a sharp pull, a tug so vicious Leo thought his stomach was being ripped from his body.

_And the castle reached out, and took. . . ._

He heard Jim cry out, “Fuck! SCOTTY! SOMETHING’S WRONG!”

Leo saw Jim reaching for him, saw his brilliant blue eyes wide and unseeing. . .and frightened. _Fucking hell! If Jim is scared then. . ._

::*||/\||*::

_. . . I am so fucked._

Leo hit the ground hard, grunting as he did. He remained in a crouched position and slowly opened his eyes.

What surprised him wasn't the fact that he was still alive or that he was breathing air that seemed to be filling his lungs adequately, but that he was looking at stone--smooth, gray stone. _What the fuck is this?_

"Hello. Who are you?"

Leo raised his head to see that he was crouching amidst chairs. And tables. He rose from the crouch to face a large, trembling man wearing. . .well, he wasn't sure what the man with the bulbous nose and squinty eyes was wearing ( _Is that a mortar board on his head??_ ), but he was also holding slender stick in his hand. "Where the hell am I?" Leo said, standing to his full height.

"Who are you?" the man demanded again, brandishing the stick in front of him.

"Dr. Leonard McCoy. And I repeat, where am I?"

"What do you mean 'where are you'? You're at Hogwarts, of course."

"Hogwarts? What the hell is a Hogwarts?"

"It's a school."

Leo looked at the surroundings and somehow, he just could not process the meaning of a man wearing a black academic gown, a mortar board, long wooden tables with silvery pots simmering over Bunsen burners, candles and oil lamps, and jars and jars filled with floating stuff. He shook his head as he rubbed his forehead. "Jesus Christ! I've been dropped into the middle of a goddamn Dickens novel!"

"Well, no. Not Dickens, anyway," the man replied. "You are dressed very strangely."

Leo choked back a laugh. "I could say the same about you." He looked around again. "What is this place?"

"This? This is the Potions classroom. I am Professor Horace Slughorn, Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Leo felt his eyes grow wide and his head spin. "And where exactly is this school located?"

"Why, in Scotland."

“On Earth?”

“Of course we’re on Earth! Where else would we be?” the man said, incredulously.

"Holy Mother of God," Leo muttered, rubbing his forehead. "What year is it?"

"My dear boy, are you feeling all right?" Professor Slughorn started to walk nearer to him.

"The year. What's the year, dammit?"

"2015."

“Holy shit!” The blood drained from his head and that was the last thought he had.

*

Jim thought his head was going to spin right the fuck off of his neck. As his feet hit the floor, he held his arms out to his sides, trying to gain some control over what was happening to him. As soon as his eyes focused, he reached for the phaser on his belt, which of course wasn’t there, and whipped around. . . .

Staring at him from all sides were black-robed kids, of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Most of them were holding slender sticks, all pointed at him. And, it was deadly silent.

“I’m Captain James T. Kirk,” he said loudly. “Where the hell--I mean, where am I?”

There was a murmur around him. “He’s American,” he heard one voice say.

“Well, technically, no,” he said, turning towards that particular voice, but then stopped himself. Thinking quickly, he decided not to continue to answer, and instead ask one of his own. “And you guys are, what, British?”

“Some of us are. I’m Irish,” came another voice.

The crowd around him continued to grow. “You guys are all just a bunch of kids! Where the he--heck am I?”

“You’re at Hogwarts,” one voice piped up.

“Who are you?” A large boy, taller than the pipsqueaks around him, pushed his way through the crowd. “I’m the Head Boy, and I’ll ask again, who are you?”

“I’m Captain James T. Kirk.” He started to recite his rank and Starfleet service number, but stopped. They wouldn’t understand. Maybe. “So, tell me, guys, what’s Hogwarts?”

“Are you an American?” one of the little kids nearest him asked. “You sound like one of my dad’s friends.”

Jim gave him a grin. “Yes, I grew up in Iowa. Went to school in California.”

“Ooh, California. I’ve been there!” another kid exclaimed.

“Yeah, that’s cool,” Jim replied, nodding. “That’s cool. So what, this place is a school, right?”

“Excuse me,” the older boy--the Head Boy--said, “but how did you get in here?”

“Well, that’s the thing---and you are?”

“Jedidiah Spalding.”

“And you’re Head Boy of Hogwarts?”

“Yes.”

Jim took in the black robes, the preppy-looking uniforms under same, the large bags that were obviously stuffed with large, heavy books. And then there were the sticks pointed at him. Well, some were pointed at him; most had been lowered now. Except for the Jedidiah kid. “So….Jed, tell me more about your school. Hogwarts. Great name, by the way.”

“Tell me,” Jedidiah asked, “are you a wizard?”

Jim blinked. “A what?”

“Obviously, you aren’t,” Jedidiah said. “You would have known and you would know this is a school for wizards and witches.”

“Seriously? That is so cool!” Jim said, smiling, hoping to put these kids at ease, because right, he was on the brink of a full-on freak out. _Wizards? Witches? Really? REALLY? Magic is really real?_ “You guys can say ‘Abra-cadabra’ and stuff happens? Wave your wand and things go ‘boom’ or things fly?”

“No, you say _Wingardium leviosa_ to make things fly,” a little kid with big blue eyes said, nodding his head. “We learnt that charm the first week we were here.”

“How long have you been here?” Jim asked.

“This is November, so we’ve been here about two months now,” the kid answered. 

"Learning a lot, aren't you?" Jim answered. He didn’t really care about how much the kids at this Hogs...school were learning; he wanted to keep them distracted while he desperately tried to figure out what the fuck was going on, where Bones ended up, and how the hell he was going to get out of this un-fucking-believable situation.

But then the older kid cut in. "You stay here until I find Headmistress. You lot don't let him move."

The older boy turned and went back into the dining room, a cavernous place from what Jim could see of it. He kept looking around at the amazing space he was in--huge stone walls; staircases grander than any he'd seen, except on Canopus IV, a planet with an ancient, formal society that loved grandeur and ceremony during a diplomatic mission.

“What's going on here?"

The commanding voice of a man cut through Jim’s musings. “Back up, everyone!” The throng of children receded quickly and a tall man with black hair and glasses, wearing a black robe that billowed impressively as he strode up to Jim. “Who are you?”

Jim stood straighter, looking this confident wizard in the eyes. And what eyes--a deep, emerald green that seemed to glow with power. “Captain James T. Kirk. I have no idea how I arrived here, or why, but most importantly, where my hus--companion is. We mean you all no harm, and I am just as mystified as you.”

The man held the wand in front of him. Jim could tell he was being assessed; the extraordinary green eyes regarded him with knowledge and experience. He felt the crackling of organic power emanating from the man’s entire being. After several heartbeats, the man blinked, and softened his stance by lowering his wand. He looked Jim up and down.

“Did anyone see this man enter the building?” he asked the students.

They answered together, “No.”

One boy spoke up. “He just appeared, like he Apparated.”

“No one can Apparate into the castle or the grounds,” another strong voice stated firmly. The crowd parted and an elderly woman wearing dark green robes and square glasses appeared, along with a tall, lanky man with bright red hair. “He had to have entered through the gates and walked here.”

Jim gave the woman a slight bow. “Ma’am, I assure you, I did not walk through any gates or doors, nor did I App--Apparate? into this magnificent building.”

“Then, how exactly did you---”

A shout from the left side of the hall, from the lower stairs interrupted the woman’s statement. “Headmistress! I found this man in the dungeons,” came another voice.

And there was Leo, suspended upright in the air without wires or an anti-grav unit or anything, like a puppet without strings--just an elderly man wearing an old-fashioned mortar board on his head, directing his floppy body with a wand.

Jim gasped and broke through the crowd. He grasped Leo around the waist and chest, shouting, “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing!” the man insisted. “He just passed out when I told him the year.”

Jim felt the-- _magic?_ \--that was holding Leo release, and he staggered as the full weight of his partner came to bear on him; he slowly and carefully lowered Leo to the stone floor.

“Bones,” Jim crooned, patting his cheeks. “Bones, wake up.”

Leo’s eyes fluttered briefly, but he didn’t regain consciousness. “C’mon, Bones. I’m here. It’s Jim.” Impulsively, he leaned in and gave him a hard kiss on his bloodless lips. 

He perceived a collective inhalation around him, but didn’t care in the least. Leo’s continued unconsciousness was freaking him out. He kissed Leo again, a little softer, a little longer this time, and whispered, “Come back to me, Bones!”

Leo twitched and then jerked awake. “Shit! Jim?”

Jim tightened his grip on his hand. “I’m here, Bones. It’s okay. I’m here.”

Leo sat up. It was then Jim noticed the crowd of black-robed children was gone, and only a few adults remained. A man with the brightest red hair he’d ever seen approached with a golden goblet in hand. “Here,” he said, “it’s water.”

“Thanks,” Leo said, and took a long drink. When he finished, he whispered, “Jim, we’ve gone back in time! It’s 2015! What the hell is going on? What went wrong?”

Jim squeezed his shoulder. "I don't know,” he murmured. “But I do know that we're not in any real danger, and we seem to have been dropped into a school in Scotland."

"Well, hell. Even I know that," Leo grumbled, rubbing his forehead. "I hate that fucking transporter, Jim, now more than ever."

"I know. Look, can you stand?"

Leo nodded and Jim helped to pull him up. "All right?"

"Yeah, I think I owe this gentleman an apology." Leo turned to the elderly man. "I don't usually flip out. I've been on too many away missions to not recognize when I'm in a different place. But usually I know when that happens."

"My dear sir, it's quite all right. I'm sorry you have found yourself in a unfamiliar place unexpectedly." He patted Leo on the arm.

"Yes, and we need to figure out exactly how you got here and why," the man with the glasses said. His manner was much more relaxed. "My name is Harry Potter. This is Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts. Ron Weasley, who runs our Quid--erm, our sports program, and Professor Horace Slughorn, our Potions master."

"Potions?" Jim asked.

"That would be most like a chemist to you," Prof. Slughorn replied.

"Gotcha."

Jim reached out and shook hands with each of them. "Again, I'm James Kirk, and this is my companion, Dr. Leonard McCoy."

"You called him Bones," the man with bright red hair, Ron, said, amusement on his expressive face.

"Yeah, it's a nickname he laid on me within minutes of our first meeting," Leo said while shaking hands with everyone. “Please, call me Leo.”

"There's a story there," the older woman, the Headmistress, said, "but first, will you join us for lunch?"

"Actually, we were just about to get breakfast when all this happened," Jim said. "So I'm famished. Thank you."

Headmistress McGonagall led them into a magnificent hall; it featured gorgeous wood appointments, rich, colorful tapestries, and four impossibly long tables with students sitting at them, eating off golden plates. But the smell of the delicious food, a stew of some sort in large ceramic bowls, made his stomach cramp.

"Jim," Leo said in his ear, "have you figured out what's going on?"

Jim shook his head. "Not yet. Let's get through lunch. We can think after everyone goes back to class."

The woman bid them sit in high-backed wooden chairs, also intricately carved, with tapestry cushions. Harry, Professor Potter, sat next to him; he shoved a large steaming bowl towards them. Jim looked down and a golden bowl and plate, utensils and a cup had appeared before him. _Odd. Do I remember seeing those when I sat down?_

Harry poured a slightly orange drink from a large pitcher into the stemmed goblets. "This is pumpkin juice," he said. 'It's been my favorite ever since I was a student."

Jim picked up the cup and took a sip. "Hey, this is pretty good."

"Unless that's bourbon," Leo said, "I'm gonna pass. Is there water?"

Harry passed another pitcher and Leo filled his cup. "Thank you kindly for feeding us."

Harry nodded as he ate a spoonful of stew, then said, "No problem. Eat up. It's a long time until dinner."

Jim pulled the bowl closer and filled their plates. He ate several quick bites, savoring the excellent but simple food. Beside him, Leo ate more slowly, alternating between bread and stew.

A bolt of lightning and the low rumble of thunder drew his attention upward. Though the stained glass windows that lined each side of the great hall were large, the light and sound came from the gray cloud that floated near the high ceiling. Light flashed again, and rain clearly fell, but did not reach the heads of those seated beneath it.

"That's amazing!" Jim exclaimed. "How is it doing that?"

Harry smiled. "That's some pretty cool magic, eh?"

"So it's not done with um, uh, projectors and holograms?" Jim had to think fast to remember appropriate technology for early twenty-first century Earth.

"Not here. Electronic equipment isn't compatible with the magic of the castle, nor the magic we all carry." Harry pulled back his sleeve to reveal a wristwatch. "This is a wind-up. I've never been able to have a battery-powered one. Computers don't make it through the door before they're toast. Trust me, I've tried." He lifted the goblet again and drank several swallows. "I have to put up a dampening field and take a potion to suppress my magic to use one, and only at my home, which is far from here."

Jim let out a low whistle. “So magic is real?”

Harry nodded. “It always has been here. By the way, where are you from and why was the year so important to know?” 

Jim answered quickly. “We’re from this year, but from very, very far away. California.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “That’s fascinating. I wonder how you got here. Particularly since you’re Muggles.”

“Don’t know,” Leo muttered as he looked deeply into his cup of water. “Makes my head hurt to think about it.”

“So how is it we don’t know anything about your world, Harry? Are there wizards in all societies and countries?” Jim asked casually.

Harry nodded. “We’re everywhere; we’re just well hidden, or at least try to be hidden in plain sight, as the saying goes. We have strict secrecy laws governing how and when we reveal ourselves to Muggles. That’s you. So what do you do?”

“Oh, we work for a space agency. In America. In California,” Jim answered.

“Great uniforms.”

“These old things?” Jim smiled. “We wear these on casual days.”

Harry smiled again. “So how long have you been together?”

“Too damn long,” Leo grumped.

“Since our university days, so eight, ten years,” Jim said. “And we’re due to be married in five days.”

“Oh, Merlin! And now you’re here!” Harry exclaimed. “The question is why are you here, and how can we get you back?”

“That is the question,” Leo said, nodding. “We need to figure it out before we miss our wedding in San Francisco.”

Before too long a bell sounded, startling Jim. “Is it class time?” he asked.

“It is,” Harry replied. “Unfortunately, I have a class all afternoon, and Ron is running a flying class.”

“Wait,” Leo interrupted. “Flying? As in an airplane or. . .what was that other kind of thing called, Jim?”

Jim, bemused at Leo’s hand gestures indicating size and whirling, answered, “I think you’re looking for helicopter.”

“That’s it!”

Harry shook his head, “No, no. We fly on broomsticks.”

Jim’s jaw dropped. “Like brooms you use to sweep the floor? As in witches at Hallowe’en brooms?”

At the same time, Leo said, “You are shitting us.”

“Uh, no to both,” Harry indicated with his hand that they should move down from the dais and along the wooden tables, now mostly deserted. “Flying brooms today don’t really function like that. They’re specially made for flying.”

“Oh, this I have got to see,” Jim said. “Where does Ron teach?” 

They entered the main entry hall, the same place they landed when they arrived. Harry pointed toward the large oak doors. “Go outside and turn left. He’s teaching between the castle and the lake, on the lawn. I’m going up to my classroom, but I’ll be done in a few hours. Stay with Ron and I’ll come find you. There are things in and around the castle that are different from what you are used to and could be dangerous.”

Jim was already pushing the door open. “We will,” Leo said. “And thanks for your help.”

“Sure,” Harry replied as he headed for the stairs. “Remember to stay with Ron so you’ll stay safe.” 

Leo waved and turned to follow Jim. “Just what the hell kind of school is this?” he muttered.

They walked out of the entry hall (“Did you see that pig statue in the entry hall?” Leo asked. “Is that a Hogwart?”) and into a cool, refreshing breeze. “Good thing the rain has stopped,” Jim remarked, stretching his arms. “Okay, we need a cover story.” He took Leo’s hand as they walked down the wide stone stairs and led him away from them so they could talk.

“You’ve been doing pretty well so far,” Leo said, as they leaned up against the castle wall. “We’re from California. Which is right, we were there. But Jim, we’ve been yanked over two hundred years into the past! How does that work? What the hell happened?”

“Bones, I have no fucking clue. There’s no Guardian of Forever-type portal even close to Earth. I mean, maybe something like it showed up in orbit as we got into the transporter? I don’t know.” Jim knew he was grasping at straws to allay Leo’s growing concern. Not that he wasn’t concerned, because he most certainly was. “So let’s continue with that story. We’re from California, we work for the Jet Propulsion Lab. These are our ‘casual day’ uniforms (he shrugged at Leo’s ‘you gotta be kidding’ face), and we need to keep from revealing too much about the future to these people.”

“And just what the hell are these people, Jim? Wizards? _Really_? Are we going to play along with that narrative?” Leo was getting wound up again.

“Yes, we are going to acknowledge it. It doesn’t mean we can’t question them; we’ve already established we’re Muggles, non-magical or something. We can do this. If you don’t know an answer, just fudge it. If they get too nosy, ask them a question. Come on. We do this all the time on first contact missions. And you can remember stuff from your history of medicine classes, can’t you?”

“I can, but dammit, my head really hurts,” Leo responded, rubbing the back of his head, then looking at his hand. “It’s not bleeding, but I hit it pretty damn hard.”

“Maybe we can get an analgesic from someone,” Jim said. “It’s just like research. You like that.”

“More like a guinea pig,” Leo groused.

*

“How does this thing work?” Jim asked, examining the broomstick closely. “There’re no controls or drive system.”

“Well, I could tell you how it’s made, but one, you wouldn’t understand the materials or the charms, and two, I’d have to kill you. You’re a Muggle,” Ron explained, deadpan. Then he laughed as Jim’s face arranged itself into a look of horror. “You’re not supposed to know that stuff. And by the way, you’re not even supposed to be here.” He rubbed his stomach. “Must be getting hungry again. Guess I ate lunch too early.”

Leo regarded the tall, lanky young man. “You’ve been active. It’s pretty strenuous keeping these little kids safe and on their brooms.”

“Too true,” Ron said. “These sprogs have been flying for a while now, though as you’ve witnessed, some are much better than others.” Then, he turned sharply. “Oy! Haddington! Told you not to fly so far over the lake! Get back here!” he bellowed.

The errant Haddington, an impossibly small boy who flew with a great deal of confidence, soared back toward the knot of students who were practicing taking off and landing. “There’s always one that has to be a show-off,” Ron muttered.

“So there’s no way I can fly on this thing?” Jim asked, throwing a leg over the broom he’d been examining. 

“Nope. Gotta be a wizard to be able to control it,” Ron replied, looking away at one student who had just executed a rather clumsy landing. He walked over to the student. “Hey, you came in way too fast. Slow it down, Fletcher.” He turned and started toward Jim and Leo. “She always comes in too hot. And she always falls off her broom. When will they learn?”

Jim laughed. “One day, maybe.” He jumped up. The broom floated for just a few seconds, then dropped. “Hey, that was cool.”

“Yeah, that’s just the charms on the broom engaging. You have to have magical ability to actually get off the ground. Though, I never thought a Muggle could even do that.”

Leo watched with a bemused smile as Jim jumped with a broomstick between his legs. He didn’t see the coming disaster.

“Look out!” 

Three youngsters swooped in on their broomsticks and collided. The resulting tumble of bodies and brooms slammed into the unsuspecting Leo, who had only a split-second to cover his head with his arms.

“Bones!”

Leo went down hard, along with two of the children. They rolled off him.

“Bones!”

“Ow!” Leo relaxed into the grass, knowing he’d been conked on the head pretty hard. “I’m fine. I think. Ron, check those kids’ heads. One collided with mine. Ow.”

So far, this visit to a magical world in the twenty-first century, a world he’d had no idea even existed, had not been enjoyable or safe. What was more, the earlier headache, courtesy of the edge of a stout wooden stable, had just intensified. Kids’ heads were just as stout.

Leo considered just lying on the cool grass to enjoy the bright sunshine dancing through the leaves of the huge water oak. _This really is a beautiful place,_ he thought. 

Jim’s blue eyes, full of concern, then invaded. “Bones?”

“I’m still here.”

“Uh, you’ve been out cold for several minutes.”

 _Uh-oh._ “Huh. Well, sit me up.” As Jim levered him up, the world swam and tilted, and his stomach lurched. The pain in his head intensified. “Oh, shit.”

“You okay?”

“No.” He closed his eyes and felt his head, finding a huge tender goose egg above his right ear. “Think I might have a mild concussion.”

He tried to concentrate his thoughts to run through the basic protocols regarding concussion, but the fuzziness made it impossible. He heard the far-off laughter of children, and his thoughts coalesced: “Any of the kids hurt?” he asked.

“One of them has a bump on her head but otherwise seems pretty good,” Ron said. “The rest of them are all right.”

The girl, adorable in long pigtails and rumpled black robe, nodded. “So sorry!” she squeaked.

Leo flapped his hand in her direction, but did not look up. Given the way his body was rebelling against even the smallest movement of his head and his stomach doing that ugly flipping thing, he was pretty convinced he had a concussion. “What I wouldn’t give for a hypo and neural regenerator right now,” he muttered.

“You think this is really a concussion?” Jim asked.

“Yeah. Maybe”

Jim half-stood. “Hey, Ron, is there a medical clinic here?”

Ron blinked. “You mean like a hospital?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” He came over to where they were sitting on the grass amid a small gaggle of students. “Come on. We’re near the end of the period anyway.” He turned to his students, and shouted, “All right, you lot! I’m going to give you the rest of the time off. Use it wisely. No, Spratt, that does _not_ mean you can go flying on your own. Great Merlin, boy! Use your head!”

While Ron berated said boy and then admonished his charges to return their brooms to the shed near the something or other pitch, Leo gingerly raised himself up, eyes closed; he stood still for a minute to allow the change in his blood pressure to settle.

“You okay?” Jim’s voice held a hint of fright within the concern. 

“If I can get a pain killer, I might be. Otherwise, I’m in for a long night of it,” Leo said softly. “Dammit. This is not what I needed.”

“Certainly not now,” Jim replied. He grasped Leo’s arm to lead him across the expansive lawn to the castle. “It’ll be all right. I’m going to have a long conversation with Harry and the head lady about why the hell we’re here. There’s got to be something going on.”

As they walked slowly, the students began to catch up with them. “Are you all right, mister?” The culprit, the pigtailed girl, came up beside them. 

“Yeah, kid,” Leo said as lightly as he could manage. “Nothing I won’t get over quickly. And, I hit my head earlier, so this is not entirely your fault.”

“I feel so bad,” the girl said, slipping her hand into his. “I can show you where the hospital wing is. Madam Pomfrey will fix you straightaway.”

“And is Madam Pomfrey a licensed medical professional?”

“She is,” Ron replied from behind them. “She’s taken care of generations of students and teachers. Harry was in the hospital wing so often he practically had a bed with his name on it.” He chuckled.

“Goddamn, what kind of school is this?” Leo asked.

Ron barked a laugh. “No one said learning magic was safe. That’s why we have Madam Pomfrey.”

“I think you’re in good hands, Bones,” Jim said soothingly. “Sounds like she’s got it under control.”

“Let’s hope so.”

As they wended their way into the castle, up several flights of stairs, and down long corridors, Ron and Jim chatted about being a student, flying, and the wizards’ preferred sport called Quidditch. Leo appreciated the low light in the hallways, noting that the lamps were all flickering. Then it hit him: _How can there be modern medicine in a place without electricity?_ Of course he knew there were many worlds they’d visited without a power source and no Federation-style medicine, but this was Earth. And in the twenty-first century! He was finding it hard to grasp that contrariness of this _wizarding_ world, one where astonishing acts could be performed with a stick and Latin words and force of will. 

Finally, they arrived at a large doorway, where Harry and the Headmistress were waiting, along with another older woman and a young man wearing magenta robes.

“I am Madam Pomfrey, the school matron,” the older woman said, taking his arm. “This is my intern, Daniel Rivers. He’s also studied at a Muggle medical school, and he will be doing your exam.”

“Which school?” Leo asked without thinking.

“University of Edinburgh Medical,” the young man answered. “So many of our world have Muggle heritage that we’ve seen more Muggle diseases affecting wizards. I grew up in a Muggle family myself.”

“That’s really fascinating,” Leo said, as he slowly slid onto a bed. “If my head didn’t hurt so bad, I’d love to talk to you about that.”

Rivers pulled out his wand and waved it over Leo’s head. “We’re going to get you feeling much better very soon.”

“That’s a comfort.”

The young Healer put Leo through many tests and came to a diagnosis of no concussion but two severe bumps to the skull resulting in a cracking good headache. “I’m going to fix you a potion that will relieve the pain, so give me a few minutes,” he said. He turned and walked across the large room and entered a smaller room.

“If I’d had a tricorder, I could’ve told him that in a nanosecond,” Leo groused softly to Jim. “Can’t wait to get back to our century.” He lowered himself onto the bed and closed his eyes. 

Jim allowed himself to relax for the first time in the eight or so hours since they’d arrived at Hogwarts in the twenty-first century. The healer returned and Jim helped Leo sit up to drink it down. “Not bad at all,” Leo remarked, handing the cup back to the young man.

They remained in the medical facility for the next few hours, and were visited by various students and faculty members who wanted to meet them. Leo dozed off and on as the analgesic drink took effect. Jim held his hand, and spoke quietly to every visitor.

Dinner was served by Ron and Harry who floated a heavily loaded tray into the room. They ate beside Leo’s bed, along with Rivers and Madam Pomfrey who peppered them both with questions about medical practices; Harry and Ron asked about politics in America and the space program; Jim had had to think very hard about what was happening with NASA and the JPL during that time. The two wizards didn’t seem to know details, so Jim left his explanations to generalities. 

The mood was light and conversational, but as soon as the tray of empty plates and goblets disappeared, Jim sensed Harry had some important business to conduct as the wizard straightened his robes.

“So I’ve been talking to Professor McGonagall and a few others. Tomorrow,” Harry said, “we’ll arrange for transportation for you to Inverness. That’s the closest big city to us.”

“Oh, I think they should go to Edinburgh,” Healer Rivers said. “Flights out of Inverness cost so much.”

“All right,” Harry conceded. “We’ll get you to Inverness and put you on the train to Edinburgh. From there, you and Leo can get a flight back to California.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jim said with a smile, a hard knot in his stomach. “We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

“I think I’m done,” Leo admitted, rubbing his head. “Even though I know the bumps on my head haven’t affected me too badly since I can string together a coherent sentence and have kept dinner down, I’m feeling done in.”

“Broth and bread isn’t dinner, Bones,” Jim reminded him gently. 

“But it was really good broth and bread,” Leo rejoined. “Not our replicated stuff.”

“Replicated?” Ron asked.

“Ah, that’s kind of how Muggles make food sometimes,” Jim said quickly. “Microwaved food. Bleh. Very bland.”

Healer Rivers got up and walked across the room to a counter where he picked up a goblet. Then he said, “I think you’re doing quite well. Definitely not a concussion since you’ve carried on quite a conversation for the past few hours. Your pupils are reacting normally and your nausea is gone. All you need now is a good night’s rest.” He handed Leo a goblet with a deep purple liquid. “This is called the Dreamless Sleep potion. All natural ingredients, including a mild sedative. You will sleep until morning. I’ve altered it slightly to suit your non-magical physiology.”

Leo drank it down, and handed the goblet back. “Nice. I’d like the recipe for that. And to have a long discussion about magical physiology.”

“Maybe in the morning, if you’re up for it.”

“I will be.”

Jim helped him settle, then kissed him sweetly and softly. “I love you, Bones. Rest now.”

“ ‘will. Get some sleep yourself,” Leo murmured. He sighed deeply and fell asleep.

Jim turned to find Harry and Ron watching, or waiting. They were standing closely together, closer probably than most men did normally. _But they’re best friends_ , Jim reminded himself.

 _But that’s how Bones and I started out, didn’t we_?

Jim shook his head to clear the thought. _I’m a starship captain, not a yentl_.

Still--

Harry put his hand on Ron’s shoulder, a small gesture, but one that bespoke of longtime familiarity and affection. But when Ron looked up and saw Jim watching them, he pulled away, Harry’s hand flopping down. Ron looked at Jim again, and walked quickly out the door of the hospital room. 

And the look on Harry’s face--dejection, dismay. Heartbreak.

Jim remembered those days, the first few days after he and Leo had hooked up _NO. Got together. Became a couple,_ he corrected. _We never just ‘hooked up’. I wanted him too badly._ Leo had been wary, hesitant to be too demonstrative in public. It had taken long talks about _feelings_ and _appropriateness_ and _what it meant to be in a relationship_ for both of them to understand where each stood on PDA. Jim didn’t care; Leo did. Jim was touchy-feely with everyone; Leo, not so much. What was very clear was that Leo was _not_ hesitant about anyone knowing he was in a relationship with Jim. He’d freely and frequently referred to Jim as his “boyfriend”, his “partner”, his “beloved.” _Showing_ it was another issue. And it had taken Jim a while to understand the difference; and it had taken Leo even longer to see it was all right, sweet even, to touch Jim in public. They learned together how to _be_ together.

As he mused on these thoughts he was struck by intense longing, an overwhelming desire to touch and be near his beloved. He’d at times wanted to be with him, to see that Leo was in good health and safe, even while he was concentrating on his duties of shepherding the _Enterprise_ and her crew through space. And he knew Leo felt the same. Because they made a point to see each other many times during their duty shifts. Leo would wander up to the bridge during slow times in sickbay, park himself beside the captain’s chair, one arm casually slung over the back, close enough to touch Jim’s hair. He’d converse, banter, and joke around with the bridge crew, and sometimes ferret out someone who needed medical attention or a pep talk or suggested they make an appointment to speak in a more private setting. And Jim would, during the more boring moments of mapping gaseous anomalies or unfamiliar star systems, find his feet walking him to sickbay, just to see Leo working, to chat with the staff, visit with crew who were under their care. He, of course, visited every department aboard his ship, just not every day. 

He looked up and found Harry gazing at him. It was now or never. He walked over to him.

“Harry,” Jim asked gently, “how long have you been in love with Ron?”

 

*~*

 

_How long have you been in love with Ron?”_

In that instant, Harry felt something in his entire being break open.

Love.

He was in love with Ron. And in that instant he felt like he must be the stupidest man on earth. In the universe, perhaps.

Jim Kirk came up to him, laid a hand on his arm. “Harry?”

“Oh, my god,” Harry heard himself whisper. “Oh, my god.” He looked into Jim’s blue eyes, eyes full of compassion. “Could I. . .Could that be it?”

Jim’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait. You had no idea? You didn’t know what to call it? Harry, have you ever been in love?”

And there, _right there_ , THAT was the question. And in an instant, he knew the answer. 

“No.”

It shook him to the core, that admission. But was it really true? “I mean, I know what love is. I love my friends, and I know they love me in return. And I thought I was in love with Ginny, once, but---” He stopped, and considered his words as they tumbled around with his thoughts. “I guess that wasn’t it. I mean. . . .” He reached out blindly for something to anchor himself, to give him something solid and real to hold onto while he felt his mind free-falling as it tried to sort through everything that was caroming through him. And his hand found the cold stone wall of the castle.

In the connection with the ancient stone, a surprising warmth travelled through his fingers, and slowly up his arm. He gasped as the warmth took root, then blossomed into indescribable joy. The force of it made him shake, so much so he feared he might explode--from happiness.

“Oh, my god,” he whispered to himself, as he clutched at his chest with his other hand.

There was a time when he’d felt what he thought was deep emotion, particularly for Ginny. It was a roaring, a clawing that wanted to rip itself out of his chest. He’d firmly believed this was proof of his love for Ron’s flame-haired sister. And for a time he’d been happy being with her, kissing her, hugging her, having sex with her. But that time, as sweet as it had been, was fleeting. Once she’d gone off to pursue her career with the Harpies, his thoughts turned away from Ginny and to another. . . .

“Harry?”

Harry looked up into Jim Kirk’s eyes. He blinked. “I’m in love with Ron,” he breathed.

Jim smiled. “You never considered the possibility?”

Harry turned and leaned against the stone wall. “I mean, maybe. We’ve been mates since we were eleven years old. He’s always been as close as a brother, but since I’ve never actually had a brother, I just thought. . . .”

His stomach cramped, and he rubbed it gently.

“Harry, have you been having stomach problems, like a tingling ache lately?” Jim asked, noting how Harry was touching his middle.

Harry looked up, startled. “Yeah, me and Ron both have,” he admitted. “It started when Ron came to the school in September.”

“That’s really interesting,” Jim replied. “Bones and I have had the same problem.”

“You two have having the same problem?” Harry frowned. “I wonder why.” 

Why in Merlin’s name would two men from over two hundred years in the future manifest the same physical problems that he and Ron were experiencing? Ron. Just the thought of him made his stomach flip and flop, made him feel warmer and. . .that’s when he felt it. The stone against his back warmed him thoroughly. The hallway lighting grew brighter.

“Huh,” Jim exclaimed. “That’s strange. Bones and I were talking about how dim your building is without electric lights. But now it’s much brighter and warmer.”

Harry considered that observation, and then he remembered. “Professor Dumbledore once told me the castle has a magic all its own. That the founders of Hogwarts enchanted it in such a way that it protected us and cared for--us--and--it--watched--over--us.” Harry’s voice faded away and his eyes grew wide. _Great Merlin! Could that be it??_ “Jim, I think I know how you got here, and why. Come on!” He pushed away from the wall and started jogging down the corridor to the staircase. 

“Where’re you going?” Jim asked.

“To see the Headmistress.”

 

*~*

 

It was getting later into the evening; Harry knew Minerva would still be up. Despite being Headmistress, and thus entitled to stay in the flat behind the tower office, she had elected to remain in her third floor quarters off the main corridor, where she was more accessible. Harry arrived at her door and knocked.

The heavy oak door opened in invitation. Harry pushed on it and stuck his head in. “Come in Professor Potter,” he heard her call from another room. “And bring Mr. Kirk with you.”

Harry and Jim entered into a cheery parlor with heavy leather furniture and many lit lamps. A fire burned in the grate to chase away the pervasive damp and chill.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Minerva said, as she directed a tray of tea and biscuits to the low table in front of the sofa. “Do make yourselves comfortable.”

Jim was amazed. “How did you know we were coming?” he asked.

She smiled enigmatically. “I knew.”

Harry shrugged. “She’s headmistress. She knows everything.”

The men sat on the sofa as she poured strong, hot tea into delicate china cups. Harry knew the service well. It belonged to a long-ago relative of her mother’s, over three hundred years old; the pot bore the crest of the family, old Scottish wizarding royalty. “Now, how is Dr. McCoy?” she asked. “I’ve been quite concerned.”

“He’s sleeping now,” Jim answered. “No concussion but that hard head of his took a beating. He was ready to hit the sack right after dinner.”

“Indeed,” she replied. “I’m pleased our young Mr. Rivers was able to help.”

“As are we.”

She took a sip of tea, set the cup and saucer down, and flicked her wand. A bottle of Old Ogden’s Firewhiskey flew into her hand. “I feel the need for a bit of fortification,” she explained. “And I wonder if you don’t feel the same, Mr. Kirk?”

Jim grinned and held his cup to her. “My husband would thoroughly approve, Headmistress.”

“Well, we shall have to tempt him once he’s regained his strength.”

“Thank you. We both love a good Scottish whisky, though I am certain my chief engineer has never heard of this brand.” 

Harry also accepted a dollop of the amber liquid, and drank his tea down steadily.

“Well, now, what brings you to my quarters tonight?” Minerva asked, settling into her squashy easy chair.

Harry set the empty cup and saucer on the table beside him. “Headmistress, does the castle have a charm that can affect its inhabitants?”

Minerva cocked her head. “The castle has many charms, mostly protective ones, of course. It warms us and cools us; it makes sure it cannot be seen by Muggles. I remember when an aeroplane first flew over us, some eighty years ago. Ooh, that prompted quite a bit of discussion.” She clasped her hands and smiled. “Professor Dumbledore had to fly up on a broomstick to make sure the camouflage spell worked for the roof, too. Of course, we thought that the charm extended to cover the entire castle, but we had never considered the roof!” She stopped after enjoying the memory. But then she continued, “And the castle provides protection from magical attack, though those charms need to be strengthened, as the last battle proved. And as you are acutely aware, Mr. Potter.”

Harry nodded; Jim’s eyebrows rose in question. “Battle?” he asked.

“A story for another time,” Harry said. “Professor, have you known the castle to affect individuals in a personal way?”

Minerva looked at him steadily, then exhaled. “Perhaps.”

“As in, say, playing matchmaker?” Jim added.

She bowed her head. “That explains quite a lot, Mr. Kirk,” she said slowly. Minerva rose and went to a glass-fronted bookcase in the opposite corner. From it, she extracted a large book. 

“Well, I’m just taking a wild guess here,” Jim began, “but Harry has admitted that he’s been in love with--someone for a while. And that for some time he has been experiencing physical symptoms that may or may not be related to a kind of--matchmaking spell, courtesy of your fine, ancient castle.” Jim paused, hardly believing these words were coming out of his mouth. “And that because of this spell, it is quite possible the castle has worked a very sophisticated bit of--magic--that was able to reach not just through space, but into time itself.”

Minerva gave him a startled look, shifting the book in her arms. “What are you saying?”

Jim looked down at his hands, twining and untwining his fingers, thinking of how to tell them the truth, at least his version of the truth. “Look, I’m just trying to connect all the events and stories here. You tell me this is Scotland in 2015, Headmistress. And it is true that Dr. McCoy and I are from California, from San Francisco, which is where we were right before we came here. However, there’s another part of our story we’ve been withholding from you. . .the truth is Dr. McCoy and I are from the future. The distant future.”

“How distant, Mr. Kirk?”

“It’s November the tenth, in the year 2268.”

Minerva’s jaw dropped slightly. Harry gasped.

“So getting us to Edinburgh tomorrow to arrange for a flight back to San Francisco isn’t going to work,” Jim said seriously. “I thinking we need to stay here because it is here that everything began. And I think, given what you’ve said, that your castle may have worked some serious space-time magic.”

The elderly headmistress walked slowly to her chair and dropped into it; Harry stared at Jim. The silence grew.

After a while, Minerva opened the large book in her lap. “I have never heard of such a spell. We have devices that can send a person backwards and forwards in time, but the time range is severely and strictly limited, no more than a few days at the very most,” she said as she turned pages. “Unless. . . .”

“Minerva, what language is that written in?” Jim asked, as he craned his neck to look at the book.

The large, leather-bound book was written in ink on parchment. The fine, spidery penmanship bespoke of an earlier time and skillset, and a different language. “It’s Old English,” she said. “I can read some of it.”

Jim came around to stand beside her chair. “To me, it looks like. . . gobbledegook.”

Harry started. “You can read Gobbledegook?”

“What? That’s a real language?” Jim asked, surprised. 

“It’s what the Goblins speak.”

“Wait. There are Goblins? Like, a real species called Goblins?”

“Oops. That’s need-to-know wizarding world stuff,” Harry said quickly. And then he threw up his hands. “But what the hell, you know a lot already. Yeah, there are really Goblins, and their language is called Gobbledegook.”

“Well, I’ll be goddamned. For me it’s just a word that means unintelligible.”

“Mr. Kirk, it is entirely possible this book has been spelled to appear that way to non-magical people,” Minerva said. She waved her wand over a book on the table beside her, Transfiguring it into a magnifying glass. “My command of Old English is rusty. I shall contact a colleague who can assist me.” 

Jim’s eyes grew wider. “Did you just turn that book into--”

She waved her wand again and the front door opened. “Perhaps it is time for you to call it a night, Mr. Kirk.” 

Jim knew when he was being dismissed. He tugged on his tunic and gave Minerva a slight bow. “Headmistress, thank you for everything you and your staff have done for us. I have every confidence you will figure out how to get us back to our time and place.” 

“I shall endeavour to do my best work. I will firecall my colleague this instant.” She stood and moved toward the small fireplace. 

“Ah, Mr. Potter, perhaps you and Mr. Kirk should move along now,” she said, reaching for a small box on the mantle.

“Right,” Harry said. “Jim, let’s go back to my quarters. I’ve got some Old Ogden’s there.”

“Excellent idea.”

*

Jim stared into his tumbler of the firewhisky. It was very good, but he thought he still preferred the Kentucky bourbon his almost-husband liked. Still, it was good enough, and it was giving him a nice, easy buzz, one that would allow him to sleep and not worry about the fact he was in another time and a very different place. 

He and Harry had spoken much since they’d returned to Harry’s quarters. His rooms were more spartan than Minerva’s, perhaps because he hadn’t lived there as long or was a guy. Everything that he and Leo had seen and learned today prompted Jim to ask Harry about---everything. Harry’s life, the battle that had been had alluded to, what were charms and spells, what happened to the book in the Headmistress’s quarters, and just what was Apparation.

“So you guys can transport yourselves with your minds and magic and not with a sophisticated machine that can, obviously, be manipulated by an ancient, inanimate building with a will and a helluva lot of magic?” Jim said.

“Seems so. I know some about the castle’s history because I teach it in my defencive magic class to the first years. One of the spells the castle has is that it protects against outside and some internal forces.” Harry took a sip of his drink. “What I hadn’t realized is that it can flip that spell and actually bring people together. Our house structure up until the second war was such that it created divisions within the student body. There were the usual rivalries and grudge matches like you’d expect, but occasionally there were some fairly heinous acts of violence.”

Jim gave him a surprised look. “And you didn’t stop the students from attacking each other?”

Harry shook his head. “No. It was a time-honoured tradition that members of each house would push each other to master the theory and practices being taught. The students aren’t supposed to use magic in the hallways or on each other, but kids, you know, can’t resist. Especially if there’s stuff going on between individuals.”

“Sounds like you know from personal experience.”

“Ah, yeah. You could say that.”

“And what is this second war? Which means there was a first war?”

Harry sighed. “Even our world isn’t immune from dark forces within it. The wizarding world is fairly conservative and tradition-bound. Like the Muggle society that surrounds us, some of us are trying our damndest to break the more limiting beliefs.”

“Like being gay?”

Harry nodded. “More wizards and witches are coming out, but there are still conservative elements that lead to discrimination and bigotry.”

Jim inhaled. “It’s not like that in my century. Human society has evolved beyond restrictions on gender and sexual identification. And we’re gaining a lot of ground in acceptance of inter-species relations. There are many human-other species couples and polyamorous relationships on my ship.”

“Polyamorous?”

“More than two. There’s a species that has to have four beings in a sexual relationship in order to have children.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “That’s . . .really amazing.”

“And yet, it isn’t. Not in my time.” He took a drink. “But you’ll get there, and sooner than you think.”

“But you can’t tell me when.”

“Nope. I’d have to kill you.”

Harry snorted. “Same could be said for you knowing too much about my world.”

They talked more about this and that. After another drink, Jim was definitely feeling lethargic.

“Harry, I think I need some sleep,” he admitted, rubbing his hand over his face and eyes. “It’s been a long, strange day.”

“Indeed, it has.” Harry put his glass down on the floor next to the sofa. “You want to bunk here? I can Transfigure the sofa into a bed for you.”

“Can I go to the hospital wing and sleep next to Bones? I think I need to be there when he wakes up.”

“Of course. Good idea. I’ll escort you.”

Five minutes later, Jim was pulling his tunic over his head. Harry had moved a bed closer to Leo’s, soundlessly, using magic. “Thank you, Harry. We’ll see you at breakfast,” Jim whispered.

“Good night.”

Jim slid into the bed; it was very comfortable and very comforting to be near his beloved once again. Leo had rolled over onto his preferred side, facing Jim, and was breathing deeply and easily. Jim reached out and took Leo’s hand in his. After a few minutes, he, too, fell asleep.

 

*~*

 

Harry didn’t feel like going back to his quarters. He felt too enlivened by his personal revelation. All evening, his thoughts kept circling back to how clueless he’d been about his feelings for Ron, and how much of a fool he felt. Jim had reassured him that it wasn’t unusual for guys to be oblivious to feelings, even in the more advanced century that he and Leo came from. And they were so open with their affection toward each other. _Well, at least Jim is. Leo seems to be more reserved. Not that I’m going to snog Ron in front of the entire school. Ew. That would just  
. . . no, absolutely not. I’m not like that, anyway._ Harry thought about all the ways he and Ron could show they were together--hanging out; going to Quidditch matches and snuggling together under a blanket when it’s cold; going to the pub and having a butterbeer or a pint and sitting close to each other. _Wait, we do all of that already!_

It struck him that he and Ron were pretty much a couple except for that final step of expressing their feelings. Maybe. He needed to tell Ron what he was feeling and finding out if Ron felt the same for him. It was entirely possible that Ron didn’t feel the same way, and then--well, he didn’t know what he’d do next, but he was sure he did. There’d been times before his marriage to Hermione when all of Ron’s family were sure they were together romantically; sure, there’d been some ribbing, definitely taking the piss, but Ron had never vehemently denied it either. He’d protested and punched George in the arm a few times. Charlie had always been cooler about that sort of thing; maybe it was because he lived in a commune with a bunch of other dragon handlers. His life was much more fluid being in the mountains in eastern Europe; the times he and Ron had visited left him with the impression people in Romania didn’t seem to be as hung up as much as British wizards. They’d seen gay couples, men and women, together in the commune and in the streets of large cities. No one gave them a second glance; it was just normal life. Well, maybe it would be that way for them. Ron’s parents had been accepting when Charlie had brought a guy home for Christmas one year, and a girl the next. Sure they’d joked with him about it, but that was it.

Harry pulled up in front of Ron’s door. It was late, but he knew Ron would be up. How? Because they’d spent many Friday nights together. And Saturday nights; and Sunday nights; and. . . .

He knocked on the door and it swung open. “Hey,” Ron called out. He was slumped in an easy chair, reading.

“Hey.” Harry entered and closed the door. “Can we talk?”

Ron swung his feet down from the arm of the chair and set them on the floor; his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ fell to the floor beside him. “Sure. What’s up?”

Harry sat on the sofa nearby, and was hit by a wave of uncertainty. _Was this the right time? Would there ever BE a right time? What if this didn’t go well? What if I cock it up? What--_

“Harry?”

“I love you,” Harry blurted out. “I’ve been in love with you for what seems like forever.” He gulped when he saw the stunned look on Ron’s face, so he let all the words out in a rush: “I’m sorry. This may be a really crap time, and it may be too soon after you and Hermione divorced and I know you’ve been struggling with all that. But I can’t keep it in any more. I can’t keep avoiding it. Actually, I never thought that it was love, you know, we’re blokes and best mates and I thought it was just the way we were, and then I was talking to Jim tonight and he said he thought that’s what it was and how long we’d been like this and that we should. . . .”

Ron had gotten up while Harry was babbling and slowly came to him, kneeling. Ron looked him squarely in the eyes, and Harry’s words stopped.

“I know,” he said.

“You know? What do you know?”

“About how you feel. I feel it, too.”

Harry gaped. His mouth opened and closed rapidly, but no words came out. “But why haven’t you said anything?”

Ron shrugged. “Dunno. I’m stupid about this stuff. Hermione got it right all along. My ‘emotional intelligence’ is piss-poor.”

“Well, mine isn’t any better,” Harry said, hope rising as Ron stared at him. 

Ron leant in. “So,” he said softly, “what are we going to do about it?”

Harry felt all his breath leave him. Everything in his brain drew down to the blue eyes in front of him. “I--don’t---what?”

Ron closed the final centimetres between them and planted his lips on Harry’s. 

Harry thought he may have gasped. Or maybe inhaled. Or squeaked. He wasn’t sure because the only sense that was working was the feel of Ron’s dry, cracked lips on his. For some inexplicable reason he remembered Hermione telling him once that Ron was something of a sloppy kisser. “It’s not bad,” he heard her say in his mind. “Just lazy and wet and his bottom lip slides down and--”

When Ron touched Harry’s cheek with a hot, hot hand, and his body shifted closer to Harry’s, Hermione’s voice describing Ron’s artless kissing dissipated in the onslaught of nerves firing at the speed of light. He quite possibly saw stars exploding, angels flitting, wands shooting sparks  
. . . . 

And then, suddenly--nothing. He’d closed his eyes to savour and bask in all the feels, but then the warm, wet lips and hot, hot hand were gone.

The next thing he saw was Ron’s denim-clad arse moving quickly away from him, and then heard the bang of the door shutting firmly.

All of the air whooshed out of the room with Ron. Harry released his own breath and panted, his hand on his chest. His heart was racing and pounding like a herd of hippogryffs on a rampage. He took stock of his situation: Ron kissed him. Ron had kissed him really, really well. And then Ron left.

“Well, that sucks,” Harry muttered, falling back into the sofa.

Still, the exhilaration of having being snogged _by Ron!_ overwhelmed any disappointment of Ron having run away. Because Harry knew Ron. Ron needed time to process what had just happened. Still, there was the little nagging doubt, the fear that this would be a one-off, that Ron was just testing the waters or giving Harry what he, Ron, thought he, Harry, wanted. He wanted to believe, he wanted to hope that Ron kissing him meant there were feelings there, feelings beyond being best mates, because he’d said so. Said there were feelings. Feelings for him.

“Just hope he processes fast,” Harry said to himself, adjusting his wilting erection. 

And just like that, Harry felt all the Old Ogden’s firewhisky he’d drunk with Jim earlier. His head spun and he felt a little shaky. _Time to call it a night_ , he thought, as he left the flat for his own.

 

*~*

 

Ron took off in a blind run through the castle. Not the smartest thing to do, he knew, but he needed to put some physical distance between himself and Harry and what had just transpired between them. He ran up three flights of stairs, remembering to skip the next-to-the-top step that eats feet on the second flight. 

_Oh, Merlin, I kissed Harry!_

He slowed down then walked over to the wall of the corridor and sagged against it, putting his hands on his knees. He panted just a little, thinking about what had just happened. He leant into the stone, but to his great surprise, the stones were warm and comforting, rather than cold and annoying. Hogwarts Castle always had a damp chill that hung in the air, even when all the fires were lit and the castle was putting out the small bit of heat that appeared miraculously, but never from the stone walls. The walls were always cold.

But not now. He stretched his back up and into the stone and it felt so good, almost like he was being embraced. By Harry. Because that was the best. The times they’d hugged in spontaneous moments of great joy or relief or giddiness were treasured by Ron. He’d catalogued them in detail in his heart: the feel of Harry’s skinny, sinewy, muscular arms around his middle or encircling and crushing his arms into his chest or when Ron, who was several inches taller, simply took Harry in _his_ arms and held him against his chest, Harry’s wild black hair tickling his chin and nose. When his marriage to Hermione was falling apart, Harry was there--for all of them, sure, but he was generous with time and affection and support. Never judging, even though it was he who was leaving their best friend. Hermione was profoundly sad, but stoic. He knew Harry visited her and the kids, even after he, Ron, had moved out of their house. And he was grateful because he knew Harry had their best interests at heart. And it wasn’t that he wasn’t taking care of his children--he absolutely was, and they were a joy. His relationship with Hermione was still strained and hurting; one day they’d be friends again. 

Ron looked down at his hands. Was he ready for this, this change in the most significant relationship in his life? Was he ready to go from best mate to lover or boyfriend or partner? Maybe it was too soon if he was questioning it. Maybe this wasn’t the right time.

But when would the right time come?

He found himself walking up another flight of stairs, and down the dark corridor towards the hospital wing. What was it that Harry had said? Talking to Jim had made him realize that he was in love? The two strange American visitors who seemed to have a really strong, loving relationship, one like his mum and dad had. Maybe it was possible for two blokes to be in love?

Ron pushed open the door slowly. Leo and Jim were the only occupants at the moment. He’d spent a lot of time in this room as a student; spent a lot of time in this room with Harry and Hermione. The two were in the middle of the room; Jim’s bed was close to Leo’s. Both were breathing deeply and easily. He walked over and took the bed next to Leo’s; sitting on in, he was able to look out of the window onto the dark grounds. Everything was still and silent; a good place to think.

 

*~*

 

Leo awoke early, feeling much refreshed and restored, having experienced the best sleep he’d had in many years. He ran through his checklist of body parts and movements that he used on the occasion when he’d been injured, starting with his head. Without opening his eyes, he slowly moved his hand to the back of his head where he’d hit the wooden table. Still tender, but noticeably smaller. He then checked the bump on the side of his head that had met a small girl’s head--much better, hardly any swelling at all. _Note to self: get the recipe for the sleeping potion and analgesic. Worked wonders!_

He still hadn’t opened his eyes, but was aware of a great, familiar warmth surrounding his body. _Jim_ , he thought with deep affection. _Jim is here with me._ He couldn’t wait for him to awaken to find out how the evening had gone whilst they were in this strange place that was out of time for them.

Leo finally opened his eyes to find a different set of blue eyes staring at him, eyes that were topped by a riot of bright red hair. “Ron?” he said softly.

“Hey.”

Ron didn’t say anything else as Leo studied him. The young man appeared to have not slept, judging from the dark smudges and puffiness under his eyes. But he was relaxed and seemed to be waiting for something.

“Can I talk to you?” Ron finally said.

Leo nodded. “Of course.”

Ron exhaled, got out of the bed, and came to sit beside him. Leo waited until Ron had gotten comfortable. He could pretty much guess what was coming next. “Harry on your mind?”

Ron smiled and hung his head. “Yeah.”

“So tell me about it.”

And Ron unloaded. Everything, starting from when they’d met as boys on the train to Hogwarts, how they’d instantly become best mates when Harry had stood up to a bully for him, all the adventures--dangerous ones!--they’d experienced together, how he and a girl called Hermione had had to figure out how to destroy the most “evil, fucking wizard ever” and that Harry had actually died to bring that destruction about; how they had gone into law enforcement training and that he and Harry had trained but he couldn’t do it anymore; how he’d married, had children, then divorced his wife because he’d realized he was in love, had been in love with his best mate but just didn’t know what to do about it, but it wasn’t fair to his wife because she deserved to be with a man who loved her wholeheartedly and without reservation.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be with him,” Ron said. “And it’s not that my family wouldn’t approve, because they love Harry like another son. And it wouldn’t be awkward with Ginny around--she and Harry were together for a few years--because she told me last year how she thought Harry and me should stop being stubborn gits and just do it already.” He stopped, swallowing noisily and wiping his nose with his sleeve. “I just don’t want life to be any more difficult for him. He’s had such a hard time of it, all his life. His parents died when he was a baby and he was raised by these terrible relatives who didn’t show him any love or mercy. And he’s always been hounded by the press because he was the ‘Boy Who Lived’ and all that shite. All he’s ever wanted is to be normal. To just be Harry. And if we are together, as a couple, then that’s just one more thing because gay people aren’t the norm in wizarding society.”

He stopped again. 

“But at least he’ll have you by his side,” came Jim’s voice from behind Leo. Jim hugged Leo tightly and raised his head. 

“And believe us when we tell you, Ron,” Leo added, taking Jim’s hand in his, “life is so much better with the one you love beside you. I could never have gone into space without Jim.”

“I didn’t want to go into space without this old man,” Jim said, huffing a laugh into Leo’s neck. “By the way, we’re from the twenty-third century.”

Ron shook his head. “I kinda figured something more was up besides you just being from California. You guys remind me of the characters in this telly show I watch.”

“You watch television?”

“Yeah, my dad is a nut about Muggle stuff. He’s got a telly set up. My brother George and me were able to rig it to pull in all these shows from the satellite. It’s pretty cool.”

This admission amazed Leo, but it was a classic dodge from the issue at hand. “So what brought this about? Why now?”

“I kissed Harry last night.” 

Leo could see the pink flush creep up Ron’s cheeks. “And? Was it good?”

Ron nodded. “It was the best.”

Jim laughed loudly and rolled away from Leo to clap his hands. “That’s excellent!”

Leo looked back at him. “You knew?”

“Yep. Harry and I talked and I encouraged him to talk to Ron. Pretty much the same thing happened. Harry told me all about you two, Ron; he says the exact same things about you. He’s crazy about you. He cannot imagine going through life without you, and being in love with you, which he just figured out, is the best thing ever.” Jim got out of bed and came around to the other side of Leo’s bed to squat in front of Ron. He took Leo’s hand. 

“Look, everything is going to change, and very, very soon,” Jim said. “I will tell you this one detail about your time: being gay is becoming more accepted, even in conservative societies. Britain leads the way in opening all its laws to gay rights. But the most important way to bring about change, particularly in families, is to show everyone how happy you are. Because in the end, the only thing parents want for their children is for them to be happy and fulfilled and loved. From what Harry told me, your family are just waiting for you to admit it to yourselves.”

“Trust them, Ron,” Leo said simply.

“Did yours trust you two?” Ron asked.

“Yes,” Jim replied. “My mom was so happy I had someone in my life. But after she met Bones, she was in love, too.”

Ron laughed. “So she was okay with you being with a guy?”

“Oh, yeah. No problem.”

“To be honest, it took us a little longer to convince my mom,” Leo said. “I mean, I had been married to a woman, had a child. It was a surprise. But again, once she got to know Jim and saw how happy and content I was, then it wasn’t an issue. In fact, she was overjoyed when I told her we were going to marry.”

Harry burst into the wing at that moment. “Ron! Have you been here all night?”

Ron stood up and shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans. “Mostly, yeah.”

“Are you all right?”

“Just needed to think, you know.” Harry sat beside him, and Ron took his hand. “Been talking to these two blokes.”

Harry squeezed his hand. “They’re good to talk to.”

“Look, guys. If you’re happy together, you’ll work it out,” Jim said. 

“And if you get some push-back from anyone, tell them to go fuck themselves,” Leo said, rolling over onto his back and then sitting up. “It’s no goddamn business of theirs what you do with your lives. By the way, are any of the faculty here married or in a relationship? Is there some rule that says you can’t be with a partner in your private quarters?”

Ron and Harry looked at each other. Ron shrugged. “There are some. Neville is married, but his wife usually stays in Hogsmeade. Oh, but you know, she comes for dinner some nights. But, no, there’s no rule against it.”

“Well, there you go,” Jim said.

Dan Rivers appeared and wanted to check on his patient. Jim gave Leo a kiss. “Be good,” he whispered in Leo’s ear.

Jim pulled Harry and Ron aside as Rivers started his exam of Leo. He noted that they had not let go of each others’ hands. “How about we get some breakfast? I know Bones is gonna be hungry, and I’m famished.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “we can go down right after---”

The door to the hospital wing burst open and in came Headmistress Minerva McGonagall in a swirl of robes, her high black witch’s hat bobbing on her head. “Oh, dear,” she said, “I didn’t mean to make such a noisy entrance. But I have very good news indeed.” She was followed by Horace Slughorn, now well into his hundreds, stooped, but still lively and engaged. “Professor Slughorn is a master of Old English and he was able to locate and translate the relevant documents about our meddling castle. We’ve spent all night in the archives.” They stopped by Leo’s bedside, and Jim, Harry, and Ron joined them.

“Oh, my,” Leo said. “You’ve been up all night? Is that wise?”

“Well, now, Dr. McCoy, we needed to solve the mystery of your appearance here so far from your own time and place,” the elderly witch said. “Would you prefer to stay here longer?”

“Not that this isn’t a lovely place, but no, we really do need to return,” Leo replied. “Thank you for sacrificing your sleep on our behalf.”

“You are welcome.” Minerva adjusted her glasses to consult the parchment sheets in her hand. “Now, we have found that there is a spell upon the castle that does indeed ‘care’ for and or about its residents. That’s a little different from what we discovered in the book we referenced last night, Mr. Potter.” 

“And the word ‘care’ is Old English, meaning ‘to look after’ and also ‘to have concern or affection for’. But the word also goes back into Old German that originally meant ‘to grieve’,” Professor Slughorn continued. “So this spell not only protects and has concern for its residents, but has a particular attention to those who are grieving. My dear boys, have you been feeling all right of late?”

Harry rubbed his stomach automatically. “Well, Ron and I have both been having some stomach pains, but I haven’t noticed it since--”

“We were having the same issue,” Leo cut in. “Seemed to intensify if we were apart. But there was nothing I could identify as the cause.”

“There is a part of the spell that does cause the object of its concern to experience a physical sensation,” Minerva said as she read her notes. “It’s as if it wishes one to be aware of a mental or psychic disorder.”

“So, if the spell perceived someone who was in love but didn’t know it could cause physical pain?” Harry asked.

“In your case, yes,” Minerva answered.

“But why did we experience the same symptoms?” Jim asked. “We were together, getting ready for our wedding that’s coming up.”

Minerva and Horace engaged in a frantic whispered discussion wherein both were consulting the sheathes of parchments and notes. “We don’t know why it affected you,” the elderly professor admitted. “There is a declaration part of the charm.”

“A what?” Jim asked.

“It’s not enough to just admit one’s ‘care’ or devotion to another,” Minerva explained. “The parties must then make a public declaration to their families and friends.”

Harry and Ron looked at each other. “I’m ready if you are, mate,” Ron said.

Harry nodded. “Do we do it here, or in the Great Hall or what?” he asked. “How fast can your parents get here?”

Once again, the two professors consulted their notes. “Anywhere will be fine,” Minerva concluded, “but it would be best in the entrance hall. That is where Mr. Kirk and Dr. McCoy showed up.”

“Well, Jim did,” Leo said. “I was relegated to the basement.”

“Mr. Weasley can use my fire to contact his parents,” Minerva said. “That will give our guests time to freshen up and eat breakfast.”

“And perhaps you and the good professor here, “Jim said, putting his hand on Minerva’s sleeve, “can retire to get some rest.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for anything,” Minerva said. “It’s about time these two got together. It’s been painful watching them dance around each other for the past several months.”

“Why didn’t anyone just _say_ something?” Harry muttered, as Ron grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the hospital wing. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I’m just as much of a git as you are,” Ron said. “Shall we continue where we left off last night?”

 

*~*

 

Several hours later and standing in the sunny entrance hall of Hogwarts Castle, a small group of witches and wizards gathered to witness something that had been a long time coming.

“I, Harry Potter, declare to all here, that Ron Weasley is my beloved,” Harry said. “Not just my best mate, but the one whom I love above all others.” He gave Ron’s hand a squeeze. 

“And I, Ron Weasley, declare to all here, that Harry Potter is my beloved,” Ron said, his smile brilliant. “I have loved him for most of my life, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to figure it out.”

Everyone laughed. “But yeah, Harry is the one I love above all others. Except for my kids. Sorry, mate, but they come first.”

“That’s just fine, Ron,” Harry said. “I’m okay with that.”

And with that, Ron leant in and kissed Harry, taking him in his arms as he did.

Molly Weasley burst into tears and rushed at them both with her arms open. “Thank Merlin you finally admitted it!” She enfolded them; Arthur came up behind her and put his arms around them all.

“We have always loved you like a son, Harry,” he said. “Guess that won’t have to change.” He gave Harry a kiss on his cheek.

Ron’s children came up to them; Harry took Hugo from Hermione’s arms and kissed his round face. Ron hugged his daughter. “I am so happy for you!” Hermione exclaimed. “I never thought this day would come.”

“Well, if you’d just told us!” Ron said, hugging Rose. 

“Oh, no. You had to figure this out for yourselves.”

*

“Looks like all is well,” Leo murmured to Jim. They were standing off to one side, close to the stairs leading down to what they now knew was called the dungeons. “Ron’s kiddos are cute.” He tugged on his tunic. 

“They are indeed,” Jim added. “Say, I wonder if we can get some more of that tea they served at breakfast? It was pretty good. I--”

 

_And with that, the castle sighed in contentment and it’s magic flowed out and around to put right what it had made un-right._

 

::*||/\||*::

 

“IIIIIAAAAAAAHHHHH!”

Jim and Leo materialized on the platform of the transporter. They immediately reached for each other. “Are we here? Where are we?” Leo asked.

“Hey, are you two okay?” Scotty called from the control island. “We had a wee bit of an energy surge in the system, but with some fast adjustments, I got you right back.”

Jim looked around and felt his chest. “Right back? How long were we gone?”

“Gone? The transport cycle never completed,” Scotty said as he checked his controls. “You dinnae go anywhere.”

“So it’s still Friday?”

“Of course.” Scotty came around to stand in front of his captain. “Jim, how long do you think you’ve been gone?”

Jim cleared his throat. “Oh, well, no--.”

“It felt like we were in that goddamn thing for-fucking-ever, that’s how long,” Leo said, though his tone was more relief than grousing. “I swear by everything holy I will never willingly be transported again. EVER.” 

JIm sighed. “No harm, no foul. Thanks, Scotty. Appreciate that engineer’s attention to detail.” He clapped the Scot on the back as he walked past. 

“Any time, sir.”

Jim took Leo’s hand and tugged him along. “C’mon, Bones. Let’s go home. Maybe a drink will help.”

“I swear, Jim. I am _never_ getting into that fucking transporter again!”

As they walked the corridor to the main doors of Starfleet headquarters, Jim let Leo rant away about the evils and unnaturalness of the matter transporter. A few more minutes and maybe a couple of days of taking a shuttle, and he’d be as right as rain.

Jim headed them to their quarters, which was several blocks off the main compound. Upon entering, he sat Leo down on the couch, brought him a tricorder and waited for the diagnostic tool to do its job. It pronounced Leo in fit health, despite a small knot on the back of the head (“It really did happen, Jim! We’re not crazy!”). After a bracing nip from the bottle of Woodford Reserve restored both of them to some semblance of normal, they settled in to regroup and re-plan their day. 

“So it really is only eleven-forty-five in the morning, which means we have the entire day back,” Jim said, as he called up their to-do list on a PADD. “And we didn’t miss our wedding.”

“Thank all the gods for that,” Leo said, leaning back into the couch. “Our mothers would’ve gone spare had we not shown up.” He sighed. “Can I just say how extraordinary you were to keep us both from freaking out and revealing too much about the future? Thank you.”

Jim came over to sit beside Leo and pulled him into a hug. “I think we were pretty extraordinary together, don’t you? We actually were mentors to a couple who needed some encouragement, and were pulled two hundreds years into the past by an ancient castle who thought we were the right guys for the job.”

“Now that you mention it,” Leo replied, snuggling against Jim, “ _that_ is pretty extraordinary.”

Jim kissed Leo’s forehead. “Glad you’re all right. I was a little concerned when you were out like the proverbial light, twice. Your head is usually harder than that.”

A few more minutes of cuddling, then Jim and Leo picked up their PADDs to check in with members of their teams. Jim sighed. “Looks like I really need to go up to the Enterprise. Spock needs me to inspect some of the design changes with the Starfleet engineers.”

“Me, too,” Leo replied. “New surgical theater designers have questions.”

Jim stood and turned, offering his hand to Leo. “You want the shower first?”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said. “Despite the space-time continuum, I need a shave.”

Jim chuckled and rubbed his hand over his face. “So do I.”

Leo turned thoughtful. “So are we going to document this? I mean, it’s pretty outlandish, but it did happen.”

Jim considered the proposal for several heartbeats, and came to a decision. “I have to. But since it did not happen on the ship, I can put it in a private entry in my personal log.”

Leo nodded, agreeing. “Think I need to as well, if anything to document the minor injury.” He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small piece of folded parchment. “And to write down this formula for that sleep aid. I’ll make sure not to call it a ‘potion’, though. That might invite too many inquiries,” he said as he turned to walk down the hall to the shower. 

A loud knocking at the door, though, stopped him.

Jim put down his PADD and went to the door to punch the ‘open’ button. Before him stood a woman with bright red hair, wearing a dark cloak and some amazing brown ankle boots. “Captain Kirk, I presume?” she said with a perfect Scottish accent.

“You presume correctly. And you are?”

“Charlotte Potter-McEachern,” she replied holding out her hand. “May I enter?”

Jim stood aside to allow her into the living room; Leo was nearby. “Potter-McEachern? As in Harry Potter?”

“Yes,” she said, brightening. “Harry Potter was a long-ago grandfather, four-times back.”

Jim cocked his head. “That would be about right.”

“So I am here at his and Ron Weasley’s request,” she began. She unbuttoned her cloak to reveal a small leather satchel about her shoulder. “I am a solicitor with Knight Rowling and Potter, a firm based in London, but I am here in the San Francisco office.”

“Wow,” Jim said. 

“It is because of you that we have this affiliation in the city and represent the UFP on several matters. Harry and Ron--well, please accept this from them.” From her satchel, she produced an envelope. “I was told to deliver this to you on this date at this time, as per their instructions. They filed this packet with the London office over two hundred years ago. It was never restricted, so I have read it.” Her eyes brightened. “Thank you for what you did for them.”

“Oh my god,” Leo said, taking the packet. “We just returned from Hogwarts, about an half an hour ago.”

“Yes. That was the reason they specified the packet was to be delivered at this precise time.”

Leo fell into the sofa, turning the packet over in his hands. “And they wrote this?”

“Over time,” Charlotte replied. “Please, read it.”

Jim offered the young woman a seat in a chair while he went to sit beside his beloved. “Well, come on, open it.”

Carefully, Leo slid his finger under the flap and broke the seal. He removed a thick pile of parchment sheets; a smaller packet slid out. He handed it to Jim as he opened the folded sheets.

 _Dear Jim and Leo_ , the top document began, _you have only just returned from what must be the most strange and bewildering trip you’ve ever experienced._

“Ha,” Leo snorted. “Too bad they don’t know about what we’ve experienced in space.”

_We hope you’ve had some time to think about it, which is why we timed the delivery of this missive to you._

_Ron and I want you to know how profoundly you affected our lives. Because of you, we finally got together, married, adopted several children in addition to Rose and Hugo, who were Ron’s kids, and had a happy, wonderful life. As I write this, we have both lived to one hundred and fifty._

“Good lord!” Leo exclaimed. “How long do wizards live?”

“Most live well into their late one-hundreds. They died several years later,” Charlotte said. “Ron went first, and then Harry about a week later. Everyone said Grandad Harry died of a broken heart.”

Leo continued reading: _We’ve been thinking for a hundred years what we could give you as a wedding present (I mean, literally, it’s been a hundred years!) So whoever is delivering this is to give you a bottle of Old Ogden’s Firewhisky._

He looked up. Charlotte was holding a bottle. “It’s from their small-batch run.”

Jim took it from her. “Hang on, and we’ll drink a round in a minute.”

_And, we thought you might like to make a return visit to Hogwarts. At your leisure and discretion, of course. We promise the castle won’t make you._

Charlotte smiled, and said, “Any time you want to come, contact me. I’ll set it all up.”

“Thank you kindly,” Leo said. “I’d very much like to see the school on better terms.”

“Me, too,” said Jim.

 _And finally,_ Leo read, _I’m including a letter we started to you just after you left, on November tenth, in the year 2015 at eleven-fifteen in the morning. It has become quite long. We wanted to let you know how happy we are being married to each other, thanks to your encouragement, just some events and people we wanted you to know about. We’ve included some photographs. All the best to you, Love, Harry & Ron_

Jim opened the second, smaller envelope and a some photos fell into his hand. “Wow, real photographic prints!” he exclaimed. “These must be--these are over two hundred years old! How are they even still existing? And look! The people in them are moving! How is that possible?”

“Holy shit, look at that!” Leo said, echoing Jim’s amazement and excitement. “It’s Harry and Ron on their wedding day.” He took another. “And this is them with, I guess, Ron’s kids when they’re older? Who’s the other guy?”

Charlotte looked over. “Yes, Hugo and Rose. And that’s Harry’s godson, Ted. Then came Colin and Matilda, two orphans. They also adopted a Squib called Gregson. His family put him out when they discovered he had no magic.”

Leo started. “Wizarding families abandon kids who aren’t magical?”

Charlotte shook her head. “Generally, no. But there are a few who do, like this one. One of the Pureblood families.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s frowned upon, but not illegal, unfortunately. Ron’s family accepted him unconditionally.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Jim muttered. “Oh my.” He held up the last photo. “This is everyone?”

Charlotte grinned. “Yes. Taken about six months before Grandad Ron got really sick. That’s everyone--kids, grandkids, all the way up to great-great-great grands. Cousins, nieces, nephews. The Weasleys’ were a huge family.”

“And Harry?” Jim asked.

She shook her head. “Only a first cousin survived. They weren’t terribly close, but Harry always remembered his children’s and grandchildren’s birthdays. As Harry got older, he lost touch with them since they were all Muggle and had shorter lives.”

Jim and Leo silently passed the photos back and forth, smiling at some, looking wistful at others. “They had a good life,” Jim mused.

“They did indeed,” Charlotte said.

Without a word, Leo stood and went to the kitchen; he returned with three glasses. “It’s time to drink to our friends,” he said.

Jim tore off the paper surrounding the cork stopper on the bottle of Old Ogden’s Firewhisky. He poured three generous portions into the glasses. As they each took one, he held his glass up; the sun streaming through the window caught the amber liquid and lit it up. “To Harry and Ron, for finding love and acting on it.”

Leo held his glass up. “To a world we never knew existed, and all the wonders it holds. But especially to Harry and Ron.”

Charlotte looked thoughtfully at her glass. “To love,” she said quietly.

“To love,” Jim repeated.

“Always,” Leo whispered.

::||/\||::

_In a castle far away, in another time, love lights up the night. A sense of peace and quiet joy permeates through ancient stone, through time and space, as the stars, the lovely stars, blossom in the infinite meadows of heaven._

_And all is well._


End file.
